


Temptations of the Wicked

by mevima, un-shit-yourself (fenix_down)



Series: TotW [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Blasphemy, Body Worship, Bondage, Boot Worship, Breathplay, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Death Reference, Choking, Comeplay, Coming Untouched, Deep Smut, Dirty Talk, Edging, Face Slapping, FaceFucking, Facials, Frottage, Guilt, Hair-pulling, Improper Use of Confessionals, Inappropriate Penance, M/M, Masturbation, Modern AU, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Priest Kink, Riding, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Slow Burn, Spanking, The Most Delicate of Blood Kinks, Voice Kink, Warning: Awkward Flirting, Waxplay, dom/sub dynamics, handjobs, improper use of rosary beads, inappropriate texting, sensory play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:03:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 144,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mevima/pseuds/mevima, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenix_down/pseuds/un-shit-yourself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Anders leads a devout but lonely life, busy with both his Chantry duties and helping the poor in his clinic in Darktown. His life changes when Garrett Hawke, the handsome heir to the Amell family, returns to Kirkwall, and Anders is caught fast between his faith and his desires. This is a lovingly crafted, perfectly respectable BDSM porn romance, and becomes increasingly explicit with each chapter. Modern AU, Chantry lore mixed with Catholicism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Искушения грешников](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8148982) by [sonnr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonnr/pseuds/sonnr)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is not yet explicit, but it is mature. It will get explicit _soon_. USY has created an inspirational [playlist on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/darthfenix7/playlist/4KbTJGjt5cFMzFPSLgEUSV) to fuel the fire.
> 
> \---
> 
> A note to our readers:
> 
> We have tried our hardest to make TotW portray a safe, sane, consensual, realistic BDSM relationship, but please don't use it as your only example. As flattering as it is, it's fairly intimidating, and neither of us are qualified to give advice on the proper behaviors or habits for this sort of thing. Each relationship is different, as are the needs of each partner. If you're considering participating in a BDSM lifestyle or want to know more, there's a huge amount of resources available online for those who are interested in a dom/sub relationship dynamic or other BDSM practices.
> 
> Mevi and USY want everyone to stay safe and happy, so please do your research before jumping in <3

_O Maker, hear my cry:_  
_Guide me through the blackest nights_  
_Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked_  
_Make me to rest in the warmest places._  
_Transfigurations 12:1_

The Hanged Man was, as always, dark and bedraggled. It wasn’t a high-end bar, but it was generally friendly, at least moderately clean, and most importantly for a man of his means, cheap. Anders sat with his back to the corner, sipping his drink, and watched the patrons come and go.

Friday evenings were always spent here, so he could at least tell himself that he met people outside of his normal circles of Chantry and clinic, even if he usually arrived, drank, and left alone. The normal crowd tonight was a bit boring, if he was honest with himself: familiar melancholy people in singles and groups, drowning their sorrows quietly in alcohol and company. As Anders’ gaze swept across the room, though, a new face caught his attention, a man working his way across the dim room to the bar.

Even if he hadn’t any interest in taking people home any more, this man was stunning - well-built, tall, with a chiseled jaw to die for, dusky skin matched perfectly with a dark beard. Anders smiled into his drink, taking another slow sip, and let his eyes travel idly over the newcomer’s body, admiring the way his band tee showed off his muscles, and the way his jeans curved against his ass. Shaking his head, he sipped his drink; it was better not to let himself indulge in such thoughts, lest they leave him feeling even lonelier or give him urges he could never fulfill.

Anders let himself take one last glance at the man, and was startled to see he was being eyed in much the same way. He looked away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring, willing himself not to blush.  _Excellent, now you’re the creep in the corner of a bar, staring at younger men._ He debated leaving, but decided that it might be too obvious, and the thought of returning to his cramped, dingy apartment was a dismal one.

The other man, however, seemed to have no similar compunctions, as he snagged his drink from the bartender and headed directly for the corner, cocky smirk on his face. Anders watched him out of the corner of his eye, frowning apprehensively, and only turned his head to look directly when the man was too close to ignore.

“Can I help you?” His voice was supposed to be cold, discouraging, but only came out nervous. Maker, it had been a while since he’d spoken to someone he found attractive, and the whole situation didn’t make it any easier. Caught staring at someone when he had no intention of doing anything about it? He may as well melt into the floor.

Making an obvious point of looking Anders up and down, the man raised an eyebrow. “I certainly hope so. Or did I mistake the way you were watching me from across the room?”

Anders hoped he wasn’t blushing. “You were - I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t mean to - what, find me attractive?” He leaned on Anders’ table, mouth set in a grin. “I can’t blame you, I’m damned attractive. And so are you, for that matter.”

Now Anders was  _definitely_ blushing. This had better be discouraged from the start. “Well, you are, but…” And that wasn’t what he had meant to say at all. “I’m not here for that.”

“What are you here for, then… oh, I’m Hawke.” He held out a hand, and Anders took it, to be polite. “Garrett, technically, but everyone calls me Hawke.”

“Anders,” he replied. “Just that, for now, I suppose.”

“Ah, you’re going to be secretive on me?” Hawke cocked his head, giving him a look that was more searching than appreciative. “Unless you’re not interested?”

Anders floundered for a moment, trying to find the correct words. He ended up saying, “It’s complicated. I’m just here to relax.”

“Well, I can be very relaxing, Anders.” Hawke winked at him. This wasn’t going as planned, not in the slightest, and Anders really should have stopped this immediately and apologized for wasting the man’s time, but instead he froze, eyes locked on Hawke’s as he tried to remember how to speak.

“I’m sure you can be,” he finally responded, fiddling with his drink.  _No, wrong, don’t say that._ “I mean, um. I’m…”

“Hey, it’s all right,” Hawke said, and his manner changed from overly flirtatious to something a bit friendlier and less predatory. “If you want me to go, I can. No worries.”

Anders contemplated it, but shook his head. “I wouldn’t mind a conversation.” He glanced up at Hawke. “But, just a conversation.”

“Deal.” Hawke smiled, and slid into the booth across from Anders. “So, what brings you here tonight, if you’re not looking for a handsome man to keep you company?”

The blond couldn’t help but chuckle. “The company is welcome. I come out once a week, have a drink, and I watch people go about their lives.” His gaze swept over the room. “Tonight is… not as exciting as usual.”

“And then you met me, right?” Hawke waggled his eyebrows ridiculously.

“Sure.” Anders raised an eyebrow. “And then I met you. What are you doing here?”

Now it was Hawke’s turn to look out at the room, instead of meeting Anders’ gaze. “Looking for a hot piece of ass, of course, what else would I be doing here?” Anders had learned to recognize a half-truth, though, and he waited patiently until Hawke squirmed the tiniest bit. “Just got back into town. I’m just… trying to settle in.”

“Sounds familiar,” Anders nodded. “This place isn’t bad, if you like dark and cheap.”

A grin quirked on Hawke’s face. “I don’t mind dark and cheap, but I think I prefer pale and mysterious.” He looked Anders up and down, intention obvious.

Anders covered his cough with another sip. Had it really been so long, that he was blushing like a schoolgirl at the simplest suggestion? “I’m sure I’m not mysterious.”

“Oh, not at all. You just come here to enjoy the ambiance of this delightful bar, drink alone in the corner and people-watch, and then vanish into the night. And you have no last name. Nothing mysterious about that.” Hawke grinned and drank, leaning back against the booth comfortably.

Anders smirked a little, and shook his head. “I suppose it might be odd, but I’m just a private person, I guess.”

“And you’ve not made any friends and other company to keep you entertained, this entire time?”

“I don’t really have the time. I… work, almost every day, and then I spend time volunteering. It’s all very boring.” He looked Hawke over, feeling more comfortable and yet on edge as old habits started to kick in, urging him to tease and compliment the handsome man before him. He wondered idly if Hawke would find someone else to talk to that night, someone else to go home with who could suit his needs.

His expression must have betrayed his thoughts, as Hawke leaned forward again, forcing him to look up. “It sounds dreadful. Maybe you haven’t found the right company? I’d be happy to make your life less boring.”

“I wonder what your particular brand of ‘exciting’ entails.” Anders smiled coyly and ignored the voice in his head chastising him for his behaviour.

“Oh? I thought this was just a conversation.” Hawke didn’t wait for him to answer. “Would you like to come home with me then? I wonder how you’d like it. On your knees? Or… me on mine?” His gaze trailed over Anders’ face, noting how his mouth opened slightly, and yet he didn’t object. “I think I’d prefer to be on my back for you.”

[](http://skasha.tumblr.com/post/133626026166/mevima-is-having-a-rough-week-and-i-asked-if-she)

Anders pursed his lips, eyes narrowing. He’d laid the ground rules; if Hawke thought him a cocktease, it would be his own fault. “You’re looking to be taken, then?” he asked lightly.

“Either way, but… you look like a man who’d give it to me nice and rough.” Hawke tilted his head, considering this pretty, intriguing blond who apparently didn’t want to be taken home but still encouraged him to say dirty things. He wondered how far he could go. “Would you push me down on your bed?” he purred, voice dropping. “On my stomach? Hold me down with a hand between my shoulders and slick your fingers inside me?”

A spike of lust caught Anders by surprise, and he shifted uncomfortably, images he thought he’d left behind teasing at his imagination. Still, old habits died hard, and he lifted his chin, raising an eyebrow. “Such filthy things you say to a perfect stranger,” he chided. “One might think you were trying to get a rise out of me.”

Hawke chuckled. “A rise, indeed,” he said. “Is it working?” He took a sip of his beer and waited for Anders to respond, eyes glinting over the rim of his pint glass.

“If I say ‘no’, will you keep trying?” Anders smirked, but rising feelings of guilt were starting to overpower his curiosity. He licked his lips nervously, then realized that would probably only encourage Hawke. It seemed there was no easy way out of this; part of him regretted letting this conversation get as far as it had, but the other part  _missed_ this, the easy back-and-forth of flirting, feeling desired, thinking of all the ways hands and lips could draw sensation over skin.

Hawke drained the rest of his glass in one go, then braced his elbows on the table and leaned towards Anders, a dangerous smile on his face. “I’d much rather you said ‘yes.’ Or, rather, made me say ‘yes.’ Or ‘please,’ or ‘more,’ or ‘fuck, harder, Anders, yes, fuck me like you  _own_ me.’” His voice was dark, silky, perfectly sinful, and that was it; this was too much, and Anders was a fool for letting it get this far.

Anders’ hands shook as he set his glass down and pulled himself out of the booth. “I… I’m sorry. I have to go. It’s…” He didn’t look at Hawke, he was too ashamed to do so, and didn’t even finish his thought before turning and leaving.

Hawke’s good mood evaporated in an instant, pulling himself upright with a frown and a twist in his stomach. Well, shit. He’d pushed too hard, like usual. Swearing, he pushed his empty glass away, clinking against Anders’ abandoned one, and dropped his forehead into his hand.

* * *

The images simply would not leave him alone. Anders was still frustratingly aroused by the time he got home, and he slammed the door to his apartment harder than he’d intended. Pressing his forehead to the cool wood, he sighed, trying to ground himself with a grip through his shirt on the amulet of St. Kristoff. That  _man_. That infuriating, tempting man who caught his imagination by saying the most lustful things, and the way his voice had dropped when he begged...

Garrett Hawke probably thought the worst of him, now, thought of him as an unstable tease who got in over his head because he didn’t know what he could handle, and then left rudely without a word. Even the thought of Hawke’s rejection couldn’t quiet him, and Anders groaned, resisting the urge to slip a hand down his trousers, just to relieve some of the ache. Maybe a cold shower would help, or slipping off to his clinic in Darktown to do some work.

He did neither of those things, and instead sank into the torn couch, recently rescued from a nearby dumpster, and picked up the book resting on the coffee table. A bit of reading to distract his uncontrollable thoughts. Maker, how had he let this happen? How had he let himself be swayed so easily to temptation?

It was another hour before Anders felt himself calm enough to try to sleep, and after saying his nightly devotions, he crawled into bed, still thinking of the way those brown eyes sparkled at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Skasha made art of this chapter! It's adorable!](http://skasha.tumblr.com/post/133626026166/mevima-is-having-a-rough-week-and-i-asked-if-she)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey look, it's explicit-ish.

_Then the Maker said:_  
_To you, My second-born, I grant this gift:_  
_In your heart shall burn_  
_An unquenchable flame_  
_All-consuming, and never satisfied._  
_Threnodies 5:4_

“This is a completely unreasonable hour of the morning,” Hawke complained, leaning his head back against the seat, already uncomfortable in his slacks and dress shirt. At least his mother hadn’t forced him to wear a tie.

“We all must make sacrifices,” Leandra said, not bothering to look at him while she drove.

“You’ll get used to it again,” Bethany said consolingly, which wasn’t actually consoling at all.

Hawke grumbled and pulled out his phone, browsing the wealth of the internet while his mother drove at exactly the speed limit. He was cranky and tired, and going to the Chantry was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. But since he was currently staying with his family while he looked for an apartment, he had to abide by old customs. It was especially important to his mother since Carver’s death, and while he grumbled, he was willing to do whatever it took to make her happy.

The Kirkwall Chantry building was just as imposing as he remembered from his youth, looking like it was lifted directly from medieval times and dropped unceremoniously into the new age. He wasn’t looking forward to listening to the Revered Mother drone on and on about the Maker for an hour, and he must have been pouting when they exited the car, because Bethany put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.

“It’s all right, Garrett. You’ll get breakfast afterward.” She smirked, but her eyes were sympathetic. This morning brought back old memories for all of them, which clashed distressingly with the new reality of their diminished family. It had taken far too long to get used to the change when their father had died, years ago, and Carver was still painfully recent.

Hawke twisted his face into a smile that was more mocking than sincere, and rounded the car to help his mother out, as always. She didn’t need it, but it put a smile on her face to have such a thoughtful son. They joined a slow trickle of other parishioners entering the Chantry building, and the way nobody gave the newcomers a second glance was a testament to just how many people came to worship here.

While Hawke wanted to sit in the back, for an easy escape, his mother had other ideas in mind. She quickly found room for the three of them in a row near the front, and Hawke sighed inaudibly as he slid in beside Bethany. Now he wouldn’t even be able to bury his head in his phone without drawing angry glances.

Quiet music sounded suddenly from the speakers set around the room, and the background murmur of voices faded, parishioners shifting in their seats to get comfortable as the opening ritual of Mass began. Hawke turned his head to watch the Revered Mother and presiding priests walk down the aisle, for lack of anything more entertaining to do, and stiffened with a jolt of recognition when a blond man entered, right behind the old crone and in step with the other Father. He wore a traditional long black cassock, accented in red and gold with elegant Chantry starbursts on the shoulders, and he looked very, very familiar.

That… couldn’t be. The man he’d met Friday night had been in street clothes, drinking alcohol, ridiculously attractive, and - this really was him, wasn’t it? He’d been hitting on a priest. He’d invited a priest home for a good time. He’d told a priest to _fuck him like he owned him_. That was it; he was going to the Void when he died.

“Are you all right, dear?” his mother asked quietly, feeling him tense.

He nodded to her, eyes still transfixed on the man, and she patted his knee. Bethany gave him a sidelong look, but the congregation rose before she could speak. Hawke was able to lose himself in the pageantry of Mass; all the standing, sitting, and singing just like he remembered. Like riding a bicycle, except _that_ train of thought brought up riding something else entirely, and he looked guiltily up at the blond man again. _Anders_ , he remembered. No wonder he’d been so uncomfortable at the bar.

And yet, Anders had never explicitly told him to stop, or to leave, other than his awkward exit from the bar. So on some level, perhaps, he had been interested. At least interested enough to pretend, for a while, that he could flirt with a stranger. And Maker, wasn’t this a damned shame, to have the one handsome and interesting person he’d met in Kirkwall so far be a priest. Hawke smirked to himself. At least he’d have a reason to go to Mass from now on.

The Revered Mother gave the Prayer for Communion, and everyone rose again. _Shit._ He’d forgotten about this, and the fact that he would have to actually go up and face Anders as part of Mass. He was certainly damned now, there was no denying that.

As people shuffled forward in the line, one by one, receiving their blessings, Hawke fidgeted uncomfortably. Should he say something? No, you don’t speak during communion, he remembered. He could deliberately choose the other priest? His family had been seated near the front of the Chantry, though, making their wait in line short, and the choice was suddenly taken from him. He stood before Anders, still undecided how he was going to react, until Hawke looked up through his lashes with a habitual smirk and watched the shock form on the priest’s face.

Anders recovered quickly, though, and his expression smoothed back into serene with only a brief hesitation. Hawke opened his mouth and held his tongue out for the ritual, and maybe the corners of his mouth were a bit too wide in the grin he was unable to hide completely. Anders’ hand shook nearly imperceptibly where he dropped a pinch of ash onto Hawke’s tongue, but his voice was steady as he pronounced, “The Body of Andraste.”

“Amen,” Hawke responded automatically, and then he was swept away to return to his place in the pews.

He was briefly pleased with the reaction he’d gotten, until he realized that Anders’ shock may have been from _fear_. Afraid Hawke was going to reveal what he had been doing? Perhaps he wasn’t supposed to be out drinking at a bar; Hawke was unfamiliar with the specific rules priests were supposed to follow, but he was fairly certain they weren’t supposed to be flirting with strange men. Frowning, Hawke watched Anders’ face as the congregation settled back into their seats, but it betrayed nothing. Maybe he should go apologize, after Mass.

Finally sitting, he tried not to stare at Anders as the Revered Mother resumed her droning. He wondered what he should say to the man, if he should even try to have a conversation. Maybe it would be better for them both if Hawke never spoke to him again; it would certainly make things easier. But he was in Kirkwall indefinitely now, and their paths would cross again, at the very least on every Sunday when he was dragged to Mass by his mother. It would be best to clear the air now, just with a quick apology or some friendly comment, and then they could both move on.

Those were the thoughts running through his head as the final blessing was pronounced, and the procession began to move back down the aisle towards the exit. Hawke stood with the congregation, watched Anders’ measured steps, his handsome profile, and cursed inwardly. Luck had never been in his favor, and there was no better measure for that than realizing he was eyeing the priest’s ass as his robes swayed.

He followed his mother and sister down the aisle, stopping nearly every step as some new stranger came and introduced themselves, which required a conversation and a tight smile; by the time they’d come to the end of the hall, the Chantry was nearly empty and Hawke’s patience was short.

Anders stood next to the other Father, a young man named Sebastian with brown hair and fierce eyes. The Revered Mother greeted Leandra, as well as Bethany, and then made a comment about how much little Hawke had grown. He may have seen Anders’ lips twitch at that, but he couldn’t be sure.

Introductions happened, and Hawke held his hand out for Anders to shake, his grip firm. “Welcome back to Kirkwall, Mr. Hawke,” the blond said, features masked against any sign of nervousness.

“Just Hawke is fine,” he replied. “I’ve been enjoying my time in town so far. Wish I could have seen some of the sights closer, though.” _Shit._ He was flirting with the priest again.

Anders’ mouth definitely quirked at that, and he may have bitten his lip. “I’m sure you’ll find the time to take everything in.” He seemed to regret his words immediately, as he blushed and excused himself, heading towards the stairs to the upper rooms.

Hawke choked, and his sister cast him a strange look. “You were staring,” she murmured as they exited, elbowing him in the side.

“What?” he asked eloquently.

“Don’t stare at the priest,” she hissed. “Seriously, Garrett?”

“What’s your brother doing this time?” Leandra asked, eyeing them.

“Nothing,” the siblings responded, and she simply sighed and shook her head.

* * *

Hawke lay awake that night, browsing his phone and unable to sleep. Frustrated, he finally set the device away and rolled over onto his side, closing his eyes and willing himself to relax. There was always too much going on in his head these days, and he felt like he never had time to rest.

After another thirty minutes, mind drifting but decidedly not falling asleep, Hawke sighed and rolled on to his back again. He had a personal method of stress-relief that usually worked well, and damn whatever the Chantry said about such things. Thinking of the Chantry led him to thoughts of that morning, and his encounter with the blushing, blond Father Anders, and a spark of arousal flooded through him.

Well, he was already damned, he may as well enjoy himself while he was at it.

Hawke closed his eyes and let his hands wander, fingers brushing across his chest, one hand staying to tug one nipple ring while the other trailed lower through dark hair to wrap around his hardening cock. He wasn’t in the mood for lazy and teasing; that would be for another night. Instead, his mind focused on what _could_ have happened that night at the bar, if Anders had come home with him. The priest was taller than he was, enough that he’d look that much more impressive with Hawke on his knees before him.

His grip tightened as he imagined Anders fisting a hand in his short hair, pulling him forward to press his lips against the front of his jeans, how he would mouth the hard cock through his clothes, tongue tasting bare flesh when Anders hurriedly yanked his trousers open. He could enjoy this either way, but for some reason he felt the other man ought to take charge. A shiver ran down his spine, thumb running over the slick head of his cock, picturing how Anders would hold his head in place and fuck his throat, just like Hawke had loved it when other men had in the past, hard buttons from the cassock sliding against his face -

A low groan escaped Hawke as he realized he had changed to imagining the man as the _priest_ , and his hand worked faster, unbearably aroused by the thought of convincing him, defiling him, and being used by someone pure and sacred. A sudden image burned in his head of kneeling inside the pulpit and listening to Anders’ voice crack around the Chant as he tried not to let the congregation know he was being sucked off right there in front of them.

Hawke arched back into the bed, biting back a moan as he came, the scene so vivid in his mind that his legs shook with need as he shuddered. He cursed to himself, then chuckled self-consciously and wiped his hand on his boxers, sliding them the rest of the way off and flinging them across the room. This was ridiculous to even imagine, far beyond his usual stupidity, and he felt more than a little guilty for using Father Anders as a fantasy. At least it had served its purpose, as he was already feeling boneless and relaxed, and he vowed to come up with new material that didn’t involve servants of the Chantry from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders' cassock was designed by the lovely kinloch-ho, and you can view it [here](http://kinloch-ho.tumblr.com/post/132246789749/father-anders-here-for-all-your-sinning-needs).


	3. Chapter 3

_Now, with their Father's eye elsewhere, the firstborn_  
_At last created something new:_  
_Envy. They looked upon the living world and the favored_  
_Sons and daughters there, covetous of all they were._  
_Within their hearts grew_  
_An intolerable hunger._  
_Threnodies 5:9_

The clinic in Darktown was, technically, more of a shelter than a clinic, but Anders fixed so many things there he couldn’t help but think of it as such. Today happened to be an especially busy day, with only a few volunteers on duty and a multitude of people clamouring for attention.

Several new poor folk had been added to the list of those who would sleep at the clinic that night, for lack of any other place to stay; it was likely that they would remain for longer with the weather getting cold, and the beds were nearly full as it was. Anders helped calm an angry, freshly homeless teenager who’d been disowned by his family, and persuaded him to sign up to the free counseling services provided by the solace of the Chantry.

The worst issue of the day, by far, was one distressed woman who needed to find somewhere to leave her beloved cat until she could take care of it again. Anders winced, the familiar pain spiking a wave of bitter memory, and could only direct her to a list of animal shelters where she could surrender it.

And everyone was hungry. The volunteers managed to scrape up a dinner of rice, frozen vegetables and a pre-packaged sauce from their desperately depleted kitchen, which was devoured hungrily if not enthusiastically. Sighing, Anders resolved to ask Grand Cleric Elthina for a bit more funding. Just a bit. It was amazing how much food only a few sovereigns could buy when you knew how to spend it, though Maker knew they could use any number of other supplies. He’d been supplementing the clinic with his own paltry income from the Chantry, but it was still hardly enough.

Despite the neverending work at the clinic, Anders had to return to the Chantry at nightfall for his turn at taking evening confession. He wished the two volunteers luck - a small, cheerful woman named Merrill, and a no-nonsense, motherly type, Lirene - fetched his long, patched coat from the cluttered office, and headed across town.

* * *

There was never much to do on Tuesday evenings, as most of the parishioners didn’t feel the need to come to confession so soon after Sunday Mass. It left Anders alone while the Revered Mother attended to her business, and Sebastian had the evening off to do whatever it was that he did. Probably stayed in his room in the cloister praying, or beating himself with a knotted rope like the ancient monks used to do. Anders scoffed and tried not to think of his fellow priest; he’d tried to be friendly when the man arrived from Starkhaven, but Sebastian’s archaic views and pompous attitude towards the “common folk” set them immediately at odds. They kept a civil tone with each other, but Anders could tell that the priest also didn’t think much of him.

The Chantry door opening was loud in the vast hall, and Anders looked up from where he sat reviewing a sermon for the next week. Perhaps someone was actually here to confess; there had only been a few penitents that evening, and he was frankly regretting not bringing a book.

Out of all the possible people who could be stepping into the Chantry on a Tuesday confession night, Anders hadn’t expected Hawke. The man was dressed in tight black jeans and a jacket, and he ran a hand through his dark hair as he walked down the aisle. Anders stood as he approached, setting aside his paperwork and folding his hands in front of him.

“Good evening, Hawke. Settling in to the city?” Anders’ smile was polite, but a hint of amusement shined in his eyes.

“Father Anders,” Hawke said, nodding, and the priest tried to fight down the shiver his voice caused. “Reasonably well, yes. I’m employed and eager to get out of our family’s ancestral home, ideally someplace on the other side of town from my mother.” He smirked, charmingly handsome and well aware of it, a dangerous combination.

“Always a worthy goal. Are you here to confess?” He remembered quite well the awkward conversation they’d had the first time Hawke and his family had shown up for Mass, and after the initial embarrassment he’d been more entertained than anything. Hawke, however, had seemed to be politely avoiding him for the last few weeks, and he thought that perhaps the man had finally decided to get it off his chest.

Hawke gave small laugh and shook his head. “Not tonight, Father.” He glanced around, perhaps out of nervousness. “I was hoping the Revered Mother was available, actually.”

“She’s with someone, actually. But if you like, I could arrange an appointment for you?” Anders turned back to the pew and sorted through his papers, searching for a pen.

“She’s got you doing secretary work, too?” Hawke asked jokingly.

“Arranging the Revered Mother’s schedule is one of my duties, yes,” Anders responded wryly. He turned back to Hawke, noting how the man’s eyes seemed to wander across his body, though perhaps that was only his imagination. Either way, the next words out of his mouth were, “Shall I fit you in?” and that had probably not been the best choice of words, if his immediate blush was anything to go by.

The man grinned in response. “I’d love that. I’m free in the evenings. Should I give you my number?” He winked, and added. “You can choose to pass it on to Her Reverence if you wish.”

Anders cursed himself and laughed, a bit weakly. “Of course I will.” He handed Hawke a torn piece of paper and a pen, then made a point to look at the doors, though no new parishioners had entered.

Hawke scribbled his information down and gave it back to the priest, not trying to hide the way his eyes flicked across Anders’ body. “I think I prefer you in jeans. Had a chance to go back to the bar?”

“Not lately, no. I’ve been busy,” Anders lied. In reality, he’d stayed shut in his apartment whenever he wasn’t out at clinic or Chantry, swapping between reading and watching whatever free broadcasting his ancient television could pick up, steadily avoiding going back to his habitual bar in case he ran into Hawke again.

The man shook his head, a look of mock disappointment on his face. “That’s a shame. We were just starting to get friendly.”

“Are you sure you’re not here for a confession?” Anders asked, dryly. “It might do you some good.”

Hawke opened his mouth, no doubt to respond in a way that would only increase Anders’ embarrassment, but then gave him a thoughtful look. “I don’t know if I even remember how to do it.” It was probably a lie, but Anders didn’t feel like this was another attempt at teasing. There was hesitance in Hawke’s eyes, in the way that he looked to the back of the Chantry where the confessional booths stood.

Finally, Anders felt like he was on even ground again; Hawke was a member of the faithful that needed his assistance, and he could do his duties and provide spiritual guidance, like he was  _supposed_ to be doing, instead of flirting reflexively like an idiot.

“Well, it’s up to you, of course, but it may clear your conscience. You seem troubled.” Anders gestured towards the confessional. “It’s painless, I promise.”

“Physically, maybe,” Hawke muttered, but as Anders walked down the aisle he followed, their footsteps echoing in the empty building.

* * *

“In the name of the Maker and Blessed Andraste, bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is… uh… ten years since my last confession, I think.” Hawke cleared his throat, and continued. “I accuse myself of the following sins.”

He took a moment to arrange his thoughts. It had really been quite a long time since he’d gone through this ritual, and he hadn’t intended on confessing tonight. It brought back memories, especially those surrounding how uncomfortable the wooden bench in the booth was. Finally, he spoke, going down his mental list of sins and commandments.

“Wrath, over my brother’s death. Envy, of… nearly everyone. Lying to my parents. Well, just my mother, now. Taking the Maker’s name in vain…” He laughed. “A lot.” Relaxing a bit, Hawke leaned back against the confessional wall. “Sloth. It took me far too long to find a job since moving here. And I haven’t been taking care of my mother like I should.”

The important one hovered over them, saved for last, and Hawke hesitated. You were supposed to confess impure thoughts, but was it appropriate to confess to one’s priest that the thoughts were about  _them_? “Lust,” he said slowly, “in general, of course, but…” He took a deep breath, and smirked to himself just to get into the right frame of mind, which added a confident purr to his voice. “I’ve found myself lusting over an innocent servant of the Maker. I think of him at night, and can’t help but touch myself when I do. It’s like a compulsion, Father, whenever I think of him.”

Hawke heard a shaky intake of breath from the other side of the booth, and the smirk turned real. You weren’t supposed to be able to say anything that could shock the confessing priest, but apparently he’d managed. “I didn’t used to touch myself so much before encountering this servant, Father. I’m doing it nearly every night, now, I can’t seem to get him out of my head. I’m not sure what to do about it.”

That was the priest’s cue to offer advice, and there was silence from the other side of the booth for a beat too long before he answered. “Masturbation is a sin in the eyes of the Maker, as it is a purely lustful act. Try to refrain from these thoughts and actions in the future. Have you anything else to confess, my son?”

Hawke shook his head, and then realized belatedly that Anders couldn’t see it through the screen. “No, Father. Not that I can think of, anyway. Unless you’d like details,” he couldn’t help adding, with a dark laugh.

That was definitely an interesting noise, coming from the other man. “Th-that won’t be necessary,” Anders stuttered, but regained his composure quickly. “As penance for these sins, recite five Hail Andrastes, five Our Makers, and contemplate your past mistakes and how you will better align yourself with the Maker’s wishes with an hour of prayer on the rosary.”

“That’s all?” Hawke asked, surprised, breaking the ritual, and Anders chuckled.

“That’s all. Unless you’d like further punishment.”

With a rueful smile, Hawke recited the ritual’s ending. “I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past life.”

“Give thanks to the Maker for He is good.”

“For His mercy endures forever,” Hawke echoed automatically. He didn’t really feel like he should be thanking the priest after that, and didn’t wish to linger and make things any more awkward than they already were. He said goodnight, and opened the door to the booth, leaving before Anders could say anything else.

* * *

In the covering darkness of his bedroom, Anders couldn't erase the image that infuriating man had planted in his mind. How he touched himself at night, every night, thinking of “a servant of the Maker,” and there was no way he could deny that the man referenced was him. He had been taught all his life that desire was a thing to be avoided, that demons were crafty and evil and would get under your skin, and this man might be a demon but _oh_ , Anders wanted him so much his teeth hurt.

Hawke. Garrett, technically, and Anders’ lips curved around the name. He brought to mind the man’s beautiful smile and strong shoulders, the way the jeans he’d worn earlier that day curved so nicely around his...

Anders cut off that line of thought with a silent scolding. It wasn't right, nor fair, to think of him that way. It wasn’t fair to either of them, no matter how much Hawke was practically inviting him to. And the words he’d used, weeks before at the bar, kept echoing in his mind... that dark, husky voice curling around silky suggestions, full lips framing how he’d wanted Anders to use his body.

His hand was down the front of his boxers before he thought better of it, and he couldn't resist, taking himself in hand and stroking gently as he imagined how Hawke might enjoy being taken. On his knees, sucking him off, cock buried deep in his throat; on his back, arching and writhing as he was fucked into the ground, Anders' hand firmly clenched in his hair, controlling his movements; it was easy to remember some of the things and people he had done in his youth and fit Hawke into place.

Biting his fist to muffle a groan, Anders gave in completely, and licked his palm to add a bit of slick before he worked his hand over his cock, imagining how it would feel to sink into that eager body after so long without so much as a kiss. He’d fuck him right by the pulpit, lay back and direct Hawke to ride him, dig his fingers into his hips until they bruised, force a harsh rhythm, while Hawke’s hands clutched in his own short hair and he cried out helplessly -

Anders came over his hand harder than he had in a long time, usually only using this activity as a last resort to get his body to calm down and allow him to sleep. Somehow, it was different now, with someone to fantasize about. He grimaced as he dragged the wet hand out of his boxers and grabbed a tissue from the night stand. His own words to Hawke echoed in his mind and he sighed, guilt and uncertainty overtaking the blissful aftermath of his orgasm; he’d already committed a sin in the man’s name, and part of him still wanted  _more_.

He was in way over his head already, too far gone to ever consider this appropriate, and only blessed Andraste knew how he was going to get out of it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please take note, the tags have been updated.

_Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation.  
The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.  
Transfigurations 26:41_

“Hoc est corpus meum.”

The Revered Mother finished her prayer, and the faithful lined up to receive communion. Sebastian stood at one side of the altar with a bowl of ashes, Anders stood at the other. In two slowly progressing lines, the congregation came before them, and they sprinkled the ash over the tongues of the worshipers while speaking their blessings.

It was a ritual that he had done countless times, once a week since he’d become ordained and been assigned to the Kirkwall Chantry. Anders willed himself not to falter, not to look over the line, to focus only on the person before him. He was nervous and sweating under his cassock, because this time was unlike all the others. The line had been crossed, the treacherous line between idle curiosities and needing to confess the results of dark fantasies at night, where only he and the Maker knew how desperately Hawke's name was whispered on his lips while he touched himself; he could not step back to safety, he had already fallen off the ledge.

And then Hawke was before him, as if conjured from the sinful corners of his mind, his brown eyes glinting and looking at Anders with emotions that he should know well enough to hide. Anders imagined the stares of all the faithful were on him, that the Maker and Blessed Andraste herself were behind him, conveying their disapproval as his fingers trembled where they held the pinch of ash over the bowl.

Hawke closed his eyes and opened his mouth, lips wet, tongue extending only as much as it properly should, and for one fleeting moment Anders felt like the Void had opened beneath him, because all he could imagine was Hawke taking a much different sacrament; Anders' hand clenched in dark hair as his other stroked his aching cock, still slick with Hawke's spit from fucking his mouth, spilling onto Hawke's outstretched tongue and chin, the other man moaning wantonly as Anders defiled him.

He took a deep breath and willed the sinful image away, and it was only by the grace of the Maker that he was able to mask his emotions and sprinkle ash onto Hawke's tongue, long fingers so carefully hovering above that hot mouth, saying, "The Body of Andraste," with no waver to his voice.

"Amen," Hawke murmured, opening his eyes to fix him with a look that threatened to send a shiver down Anders' spine, and then he was gone. Anders felt his absence but refused to lose his focus, automatically giving the sacrament to the next member, mentally reciting a prayer to strengthen his will.

* * *

Revered Mother Leliana was just as intimidating without all of her ceremonial vestments. She sat poised on her chair as if ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice, and she favoured Hawke with an inquisitive look, as if she could read all of his past and future sins on his face.

“I appreciate your time,” he said, offering her a charming smile. He didn’t think she’d be swayed so easily in his favour, but it didn’t hurt to be polite.

“I am always available for members of my flock, Mr. Hawke,” she said with an Orlesian lilt, giving him a slight smile in return, one that could still level him where he stood if needed. “What can I do for you this afternoon?”

“My mother’s family had been making steady donations to the Chantry, and with my uncle’s untimely death, we’ve returned to the city to take over the estate. She asked me to come to you about what our donations are doing, so to speak.” He gave a shrug and ran a hand through his dark hair. “She’s left the finances in my hands, and I’m trying to sort everything out, which is a bit… chaotic. My uncle was a lot of things, but ‘accountant’ was not one of them.” The chuckle he gave wasn’t returned.

The Revered Mother cleared her throat. “I remember Gamlen. Not from our services - he was ‘too busy’ to attend regularly - but there were times when he would come and meet with me with similar questions. I believe, however, he was trying to gain my approval for lessening the donation amount.”

Hawke shrugged again. “That sounds like him. Hopefully you’ll find me more agreeable.”

Leliana folded her hands across her lap. “I’m glad to see that you’ve been attending Mass with your family, Mr. Hawke. The Maker values devotion more than donations.”

“Of course, Your Reverence,” Hawke said, wondering if she’d still be happy if she knew he’d been coming purely to stare at one of her priests. “But devotion doesn’t keep those murals looking bright and shiny, last I checked.”

There was a wry smirk at that, and Hawke counted that a victory. “True. If you wish to know the exact usage for your family’s generous donations, I can have one of my priests tally the numbers for you. Is there something in particular you wish to see done?”

Hawke thought about the life they’d left in Ferelden, the hard times after his father’s death, and the squalid conditions he’d seen in Darktown being even worse than that. “Darktown has a reputation; I’ve seen firsthand what it’s like, and I’m sure you’re much more acquainted with it than I am.”

Leliana nodded, her expression serious. “There has been some improvement of late, but… I agree with you. Its reputation doesn’t do it justice; there are good people there, but it is also a haven for gangs and criminals. The city does what it can.”

“Seems like they could do more?” Hawke shrugged. “Or at least, the Chantry could.”

Sighing, the woman shook her head. “We are doing all we can, I’m afraid, but I will see if we can refocus some of our efforts. Of course, the use of all funding is approved by the Grand Cleric herself, so the best I can offer is a suggestion in the proper ear.”

“That’ll have to do,” Hawke replied. Politics were everywhere, even within something as “pure” as the Chantry. He grinned, and offered his hand to the Revered Mother. “Thanks for your time.”

She took it, her grip surprisingly firm. “Go with the Maker, my son.” Her gaze shifted to the closed door, and Hawke could dimly hear raised voices through it. “Excuse me,” she said, standing and walking to the door. He rose from the chair and hovered behind her, curious.

* * *

By Andraste’s blessing - or, rather, by the needs of the Chantry and their respective duties keeping them busy - Anders and Sebastian only encountered each other a few times a week. Monday was unfortunately a day when they were often required to work together, and Anders steeled himself to be as civil as possible when Sebastian brought him a small stack of papers.

“Anders, would you mind filing these for the Revered Mother? I don’t seem to have the time.”

Blinking, Anders was reminded of Hawke calling him a secretary the other day, and barked a short laugh. Sebastian straightened, looking affronted. “Is that a no? What could you possibly have to do that is more important than assisting her?”

Still chuckling, Anders reached for the papers, but stilled when Sebastian continued. “It’s that clinic of yours, isn’t it? That is taking up far too much of your attention.”

“Excuse me? I devote all my time to the Maker’s work, whether it’s here in the Chantry or at the clinic.”

“Your time would be much better served here. Let the people of Kirkwall take care of themselves, or come directly to the Chantry for help.”

"If you went out and _saw_ the people once in a while, instead of holing up in your rooms praying all day, you'd know they hardly have the resources to leave their homes - who of the people even _have_ homes - much less come here!" Anders knew he shouldn't have let himself be provoked into yelling, and made a mental note to confess to wrath, but Sebastian was trying his patience.

"Prayer is the best way to refine your life and reach the Maker," Sebastian said calmly, and Anders’ face twitched.

“Prayer is an important meditation, Sebastian, but it isn’t everything.”

“You could use more of it.” The man raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down, nose wrinkling as if he could see the sins on his skin. Anders bristled. “Perhaps it would redirect your efforts from your… clinic... to the more important aspects of our faith.”

“Redirect from - “ Anders cut himself off before he could start yelling again, and instead spoke deliberately calmly. “The clinic is the most vital work we do here.”

Sebastian shook his head, as if disappointed. “Catering to the poor? Anders, we must focus on the Maker. He will take care of those in need.”

“Really.” The blond slammed his pen down on top of the papers he was trying to organize, and focused his full attention on the other man, glaring. “The Maker is _gone_ , Sebastian. Watching, but gone. He will not interfere. If anyone is going to help those people, it has to be _us_.”

The door swinging open nearby went almost unnoticed, until Revered Mother Leliana’s voice cut across the two men. They both stiffened as she asked, “Is there a problem?”

Anders had a sudden, irrational desire to chorus “no, mother,” but instead turned to dip his head at her respectfully, and replied, “We were discussing how best to help the people, Your Reverence.” Sebastian nodded in agreement beside him, unwilling to bother such an important personage with petty arguments.

Leliana looked them up and down, gaze piercing, but only pursed her lips. Behind her, Hawke exited her office, and Anders belatedly realized that this was the conclusion of the appointment he’d scheduled. As she turned, nodding a farewell to Hawke, Anders found his sight caught on the man’s form, the way his fine trousers clung to his thighs, his shoulder muscles noticeably flexing with every movement under the button-down shirt…

His eyes landed on Hawke’s lips, and the man responded with a knowing smirk, keen eyes tracking Anders’ appreciation.

Anders wrenched his gaze away, but Sebastian’s observation wasn’t any better. He forced himself to turn back, smile casually at Hawke and give him a small wave of greeting and farewell. That smirk never wavered.

* * *

"You are an insufferable tease," Anders groaned, pressing Hawke up against the confining wall of the confessional, cupping the man's face in his hands and leaning in for a hard kiss, all ache and longing and poorly-suppressed desire. Hawke grinned and bit at his lip encouragingly, which only made Anders pull back and narrow his eyes. "And a brat," he added.

One hand worked at the frustratingly numerous buttons down the front of his cassock, while the other grabbed Hawke's shoulder and pressed him down to his knees. "You wanted this? You've been wanting this so badly you had to come in here and tell me your blasphemous, horrible, _filthy_ fantasies for weeks on end until I can't bear but to take you, right here, in front of the pure eyes of the Maker?" Hawke nodded breathlessly, eyes fixed on where Anders finally pulled himself out, hard with anticipation. "Open your mouth."

Hawke obeyed, moaning as the head of Anders’ cock slid past his lips, tongue flicking over the head to taste the priest’s sweet precum. One hand threaded through Hawke’s dark hair as Anders thrust forward, lips stretched obscenely around his thick shaft, and Hawke sucked obediently, tongue working Anders’ cock as the priest made a choked noise and thrust further.

“Yes, like that,” Anders murmured, his other hand on the back of Hawke’s neck. “You’re so good for me.”

Hawke groaned and slid his hands under the open cassock to grip Anders’ hips, pulling him deeper until his lips slid all the way down Anders’ shaft, throat relaxing to take him in fully. The priest let out a surprised gasp, hand clenching tightly in Hawke’s hair as he rolled his hips, fucking Hawke’s throat with a pleased moan.

Spit trailed from Hawke’s lips, breath rasping through his nose when Anders’ movements allowed him air, his balls slapping against Hawke’s beard; it was beautiful and depraved, and he loved it. He swallowed around Anders’ cock and felt the man shudder, fingers gripping even tighter in Hawke’s short hair as he came with a strangled cry, filling Hawke’s mouth and pulling out to drip across his lips, and Hawke lapped at the head to catch every drop.

“You may touch yourself now,” Anders purred, and Hawke didn’t waste any time, dropping his hand into his lap with a gasp, pressing his forehead against the robe over the man’s thigh, slender fingers playing with his hair while he slicked his hand over his cock furiously. It wasn’t long at all before he whimpered, hips jerking forward, spilling over his fingers and across the confessional floor...

Sticky and exhausted in a manner that was all too familiar lately, Hawke stared at the ceiling and swore, ferociously and creatively. This was ridiculous. Obviously, the man was interested; he hadn’t mistaken the dark looks they’d been exchanging for weeks on end now. Damn propriety and the Chantry, he was going to go mad from this, from Father Anders and his nervous flirting, his amazing body hidden beneath those robes, the way his eyes had wandered over Hawke’s body that day. The next chance he got, he was going to _do_ something about it. Invite him out, ask him directly, _something_ , because he could not continue spending every night fantasizing in bed like this, and Andraste could strike him down for all he cared.

The pounding on the wall next to his head was almost welcome, and Hawke smothered a laugh into his hand as he heard his sister yell, “Shut up, Garrett! I can hear you and it’s gross! I will buy you a gag, I swear to the Maker!”

“I have one, Bethy,” he couldn’t help calling back. The disgusted noise she made was audible even through the wall. He was thankful that their mother’s room was at the other end of the house.


	5. Chapter 5

_With passion'd breath does the darkness creep._  
_It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep._  
_Transfigurations 1:5_

Hawke’s entry into the Chantry’s nave was far more confident than he felt. On the previous Tuesday when he’d found Father Anders taking confession, the building had been otherwise deserted, and he was relieved that the pattern mostly held out. The wooden confession doors were closed, indicating a penitent inside, but the room was otherwise empty. Sitting in a nearby pew, Hawke stared at the prominent statue of Andraste and twisted his hands in his lap.

Maybe it was cowardly, to use the rite of confession the way he intended, but he rationalized it with the thought that you were supposed to be able to tell your priest anything, anything at all, without alarming or disturbing them. It was giving Anders an out, too: if he truly didn’t want anything to do with this, they could just… pretend it hadn’t happened. What happens in the confession booth stays in the confession booth, after all.

And didn’t  _that_ bring naughty thoughts to mind.

Hawke was determined to bring his substantial skills at flirting to bear tonight. With this attempt at seducing the priest - and he nearly choked on the thought, glancing up at Andraste again even while a spike of lust surged in his gut - if it failed horribly, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying on his part.

His thoughts were interrupted by the confessional door opening, a young woman giving him a cursory glance as she emerged and immediately headed for the door, frowning. Hawke cleared his throat and stood, smoothing his trousers and running a hand through his hair, then strode forward determinedly, the door swinging shut behind him with a loud click.

He sat down, and mentally prepared himself.  _Deep breath, Garrett_. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is one week since my last confession."

* * *

Anders hadn’t heard the Chantry door open, occupied as he was by the woman’s confession, and looked up with a furrowed brow as the wooden confessional door slid shut again. Tuesdays were normally slow; having two penitents in a row was quite unusual.

The voice from the other side of the box, though, caught his breath. Hawke, back so soon? Most people only performed the rite once a month, if that. But last time…  _unless you’d like details_ , he’d said, and Anders firmly beat back that twinge of want.

“Continue,” he replied to Hawke’s opening line, hoping his voice sounded even. He clenched his hands together in his lap, wondering if this was all some elaborate test from the Maker.

“I accuse myself of the following sins,” Hawke said. “I’ve had feelings of sloth, lately, I’ve been not doing as much work as I should be. Uh… wrath, I guess, I get annoyed easily with certain things. Mostly people. And ‘not respecting my elders,’ well, heh.” He chuckled a bit. Anders heard him fidgeting in the booth, and he resisted the urge to look through the screen.

There was silence, then, and Anders wondered if the man came all the way to the Chantry just to confess some paltry misdeeds as an excuse to see  _him_. The thought was both terrifying and arousing, and he shifted on his bench, willing himself to remain calm. “Do you have anything else to confess?” he asked.

Hawke spoke again, in a much different tone. “There is more, Father, if you wish to hear it.” The dark and sultry voice startled Anders, pulled directly from his daydreams and guilty thoughts, embodied and made flesh in the man that sat on the other side of the screen, obscured but so well known.

Anders cleared his throat, collar feeling tight around his neck like a noose. "Continue," he said, quietly.

"I have committed lust," Hawke murmured, and then his voice was closer, more intimate, as if he had shifted so that his mouth was close to the screen, his words for Anders and the Maker alone. Anders imagined that he could feel the heat of his breath as he spoke. "I’ve tried to suppress my desires, but I still feel sinful thoughts for one of the Maker's servants. I've imagined his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth, the feel of his hands on my skin."

Anders made a choked noise and raised a hand to his mouth to muffle himself, biting his lip. Hawke paused, a breath that seemed to last for an age. "I've imagined kneeling naked before him, seeking penance and punishment for my sins. My hands are bound and I am bent forward, spanked until my eyes water, until he pulls my head back by the hair and stands before me, moving aside his robe, and…” There was a beat as Hawke took another breath and exhaled softly. “Should I keep going, Father?"

Anders knew he should end this immediately. This was wrong, on so many levels, and he himself may never be able to gain absolution for listening to the man, let alone for encouraging this - but his cock was already hard and straining under his robes just from Hawke’s words, and when he rubbed his other hand against it he had to bite down on his knuckle to keep from moaning aloud. "Yes," he whispered, and heard Hawke's low chuckle from the other booth.

Hawke’s voice was a heavy purr as he continued. "Father, I wanted him. I still want him. I want him to take his pleasure from my body and use me up. I can't stop the thoughts running through my head of this man, a pure servant of the Maker, bringing himself low to fill me and fuck me, hard, against the Chantry wall..." He cut off when Anders made another choked sound, eyes falling shut at the barrage of imagery. "Is it too much? Shall I stop?"

Anders would pray later, dear, sweet Maker forgive him, but Hawke was absolutely  _inviting_ him to commit this obscenity. He couldn't bring himself to actually pull his robe open, but he slid the palm of his hand harder against his erection and groaned, "Don't stop."

That chuckle said Hawke knew  _exactly_ what he was doing. “There’s one fantasy in particular that I keep coming back to. In the Chantry proper, late at night, he presses me over the back of a pew, hand on my back as he pulls my jeans down just barely far enough. His fingers caress the plug he’s left inside me all day, and then he hauls back and spanks me, hard, for being good, and - Father, it’s definitely a reward.” Anders heard Hawke let out a shuddering breath, and he nearly whimpered, images bright and vivid in his mind.

“Is that a sin, Father?” Hawke murmured, and Anders realized with a start that he was being addressed directly. “To want to be punished?”

“It’s…” Anders’ voice was rough, and he swallowed, trying to clear it. “I… self-punishment is… not a sin, no.” Lust definitely was, though, and he was certain he was leaking under his cassock, he was so hard, hand pressed firmly to his cock but forcing back the desire to go further.

“Good. I’d hate to commit any more sins this week.” Maker, Anders could hear the smirk in his voice, imagine the way his lips curved, wondered if there was a trail of hair leading down into his jeans and how beautifully he would react if Anders nipped his way down it, unbuttoning as he went, getting a taste for the first time in years of what he imagined was a gorgeous cock.

That image had him thrusting his hips up, friction against his hand nearly undoing him already, and he covered his mouth with his palm, muffling the groan that wanted to break free. Near his ear, Hawke’s voice continued, arousal obvious in its husky rasp, a thread of sinful suggestions pushing Anders far past what was right, what was  _good_ , what he had vowed to keep in check after being ordained.

“He yanks the plug out and I’m so empty until he’s pulling apart his robes, holding me down and sliding his thick cock into me, and it feels so good I can’t help but scream. He fucks me hard, just like I want it, his fingers digging into me as he pulls me back with each thrust, and I’m so loud that it echoes through the damn Chantry…”

It was too much and just enough, and Anders gasped, Hawke’s sinful and terrible words combined with the friction of his palm through his cassock and trousers bringing him over the edge. He came with a shudder, and barely had enough coherence left to keep his other hand over his mouth to stop any noise from escaping, soaking his underclothes as his cock twitched under his fingers.

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t  _think_ for a long moment afterward; all he heard from the other booth was Hawke’s heavy breathing, and in his dizzy, post-orgasmic state, there was nothing else in the world.

Until Hawke spoke, quietly, sounding utterly pleased with himself. “I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past life.”

Anders’ eyes snapped open as a wave of fear and guilt assaulted him. Everything was wrong; this encouragement of Hawke, how far he’d selfishly let it go and pushed aside his vows for momentary pleasure, and now his own fucking trousers were soiled with his weakness. He clenched a hand in his own hair and pulled, trying to ground himself in something other than the lingering images that Hawke’s voice had conjured and the stickiness in his briefs.

“...you should go,” he managed to say, wincing at how foolish he was.

“I…”

Whatever Hawke was going to say, Anders couldn’t bear to hear it, because Maker help him, he might believe anything the man said in his current state. He stood and pushed open the confessional door, glancing around nervously at the empty Chantry, and made his way upstairs as quickly as he could.

* * *

Despite the way the encounter had ended, Hawke was still painfully hard. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the smell of it, hot musk over the wood oil of the confessional doors, nor the strangled little noises he didn’t think Anders knew he’d been making, and the way he panted after he’d obviously come… Hawke wondered if Anders had taken himself out, taken himself in hand and stroked to the sound of his voice, and the thought made a shiver race down his spine.

Anders had told him to leave at the end, and fled, but - he had encouraged it at the beginning, too, asked him to continue and gotten off on it, so it hadn’t been all bad. Not his worst attempt at flirting, even if this had been less “flirting” and more “blatantly telling the object of his fantasies what he thought about at night.”

All in all, Hawke was feeling fairly good as he drove home, although the more he thought about it the more conflicted he felt, the undercurrent of guilt and worry that he had gone too far balancing with the utter satisfaction of having gotten the priest off with his words alone. He shifted in the driver’s seat just thinking about it, and forced himself to concentrate on the road.

Finally home, his hand was in his trousers almost before he’d even shut his bedroom door, pressing his hand over his mouth as he leaned against the wall, conscious of the chance that Bethany was still awake. He came quick and dirty, thrusting up into his hand to the thought of Father Anders taking him up on his unvoiced offer, right there in the confessional with nobody around to know.

And yet, there was still that curl of shame and uncertainty in his gut. Maybe he’d skip this week’s Mass, feign an illness so he wouldn’t have to look at Anders, trying to gauge the priest’s emotions while he performed his holy duties. He cursed and lay on his bed with his jeans half-undone, still looping those soft sounds from the confessional in his mind, committing them to memory. At least he had that.

* * *

Anders felt guilty for leaving the main floor and retreating to the clergy’s private altar, but he couldn’t bear to face anyone after what had happened. He’d cleaned himself off in their washroom before kneeling before the statue of Andraste, bowing his head and clutching his rosary in his trembling fingers. The creak of the heavy wooden door had only come once, which meant Hawke had left, and no one had come into the Chantry since.

His panic had lessened as he prayed, but the anxiety remained, the sense of wrongness that he’d defiled holy ground with his sin. At least there had been no one else in the building, and he’d hidden his climax from Hawke. And though it was a secret he felt terrible to bear, it was a blessing that he could keep such debauchery hidden. He wouldn’t even speak of the specifics to the Revered Mother in his yearly confession with her; Anders was making his peace with the Maker and His Bride now for his defilement.

He wondered how he could ever sit in the confessional again without becoming aroused at the memory of such deeds.

Anders pulled the medallion of St. Kristoff out from under his robe, clenching it with his unoccupied hand. He’d have to atone and confess his guilt, that much was certain. But, he realized, some of his guilt was unwarranted. After all, he hadn’t broken his vows. He and Hawke had never touched except in greeting, and what had happened in the confessional was still within those constraints, if skirting a dangerous line. It was only Hawke’s words that he feared, his dark and sensual voice as he purred his filthy fantasies to Anders.

What’s more, Anders hadn’t pressured Hawke into any of this behaviour. Hawke had been the one to come to him, first in the bar and then in the Chantry itself, with his charm and his flirtatiousness. Hawke had initiated all of this, and though Anders was responsible for not stopping it when he should have, at least he had some relief that this was obviously a consensual attraction.

There was the matter of penance, though. He’d fled before properly completing Hawke’s confession - what little actual confession there had been, anyway - and the man was still required to pay repercussions for his sins. A dark thought crept into Anders’ mind about the nature of such punishment, but he quickly stifled it. He didn’t dare fall into such obscenity; he would not allow this place of healing and salvation to be tainted with his dirty thoughts.  _Again_ , a voice whispered in the back of his mind, and he grimaced.

When Hawke returned for a confession - if he ever did again - he would assign proper penance then. And that sparked another feeling of guilt, that his sudden exit may have given Hawke the impression that Anders never wanted him to come back. Anders wasn’t sure if he would be able to look Hawke in the eye, but he didn’t want to prevent the man from finding grace in the Chantry.

Anders sighed and stood, his knees popping from holding the position for so long. He brought the rosary and his medallion to his lips in blessing, and then smoothed out his robes. It was up to him to make sure that Hawke would know he was still welcome, regardless of Anders’ personal feelings. The fact that he also wanted Hawke to return was secondary at best, especially because he’d have to do his duty and firmly prevent their fraternization from going any farther.

“Andraste preserve me,” he said, rubbing his forehead, and left the altar to return to his post downstairs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tags have been updated again. >.>

_He who conceals his sins does not prosper, but whoever confesses and renounces them finds mercy._  
_Transfigurations 28:13_

 

Throughout the next week, Hawke distracted himself with work, workouts, and the few friends he’d made since moving to town. His mood sank lower every time he considered what he had done to the priest, lingering on the last thing Anders had said, and the way he fled entirely. No matter how it was encouraged, obviously he’d crossed a line, and the way he’d made the man uncomfortable churned in his gut.

He stayed home, that Sunday, pleading illness under his mother’s disapproving gaze, with some vague idea that he was saving Anders from having to look at him. The day seemed quiet and empty without the ritual of Mass he’d gotten used to far too quickly for his own comfort, and he spent it moving restlessly between activities: cleaning a few dishes, throwing darts, exercising in his room.

By the time the front door slammed, Hawke still hadn’t calmed down. He hoped his family would be able to help distract him.

Bethany rounded the corner, and he glanced behind her to see that she’d come home alone, only then hearing the squeal of the car heading out again. Their mother must have brunch scheduled with her friends.

Before Hawke could greet her, Bethany was waving a folded sheet of paper in the air, eyebrow raised in accusation. “What in the Void is this?”

“Um.” The man blinked at her, and reached for the sheet. “How should I know? What is it, Bethy?”

“The priest is giving you notes?” She held it out of his reach.

“ _What_?” Now Hawke made a concerted effort to grab for the note she held, but she pulled it behind her back and darted out of the way.

“Why is the priest passing notes, through me, to you?” Bethany demanded. “What the fuck have you been up to? I _know_ you’ve been staring at him, you shit.”

Hawke grumbled and held out his hand. “It’s not proper to withhold something a priest gave you in confidence, little sister.”

Bethany rolled her eyes and shoved the paper into his hand. “Like you care about propriety.”

He unfolded the paper, trying to appear nonchalant and hoping that he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.

> _Mr. Hawke,_

>   
>  _You were missed at Mass today, and I hope nothing has happened to interfere with your regular attendance. Even if you aren’t able to attend services, the rite of confession is something one should perform whenever possible. You are welcome to come by confession at any time. I am in the booth Tuesday after 4pm, as well as all day Sunday, or if you would be more comfortable, Father Sebastian is there Thursdays._

>   
>  _-Father Anders_

Hawke reread the note three times, slowly processing the hidden messages in Anders’ neat handwriting, while Bethany sneaked around and read it over his shoulder. Hawke swallowed; Bethany frowned, and she pulled back to look over his face for a clue.

“Okay, that’s really a lot of effort to go to because you missed one damned Mass. Again, Garrett. Why is the priest passing you notes?” She jabbed him in the side. “Have you done something awful he thinks you need to confess?”

That was a bit too close to the truth, and Hawke hid his sudden flush with a glare, jabbing his sister’s collarbone right back. “When was the last time you went to confession, anyway?”

Bethany blinked. “Since when are you so religious?” When he couldn’t come up with a reply, her eyes narrowed. “Garrett, what the fuck is up with you lately? You’re going to the Chantry all the time, keeping me up at night - and dear _Maker_ please, stop, it’s gross and I have to _study_ \- and getting notes from the…” She gasped. “Oh, no. Do not tell me you have a crush on the priest. You always _do this_ , you idiot!”

“I didn’t say anything!” Hawke protested, raising his hands to shield himself as his sister slapped at him, wincing as she struck the note from his hand.

“You didn’t have to!” Her barrage continued until he’d covered his head with his hands, but she still smacked at his back. “Why do you always have to get attached to the wrong people? He’s a _priest_ , there are like, a dozen other attractive people with dicks you could fuck instead!”

“Okay, well, for one,” he said, trying not to laugh. “Having a dick isn’t the only criteria, and two, it’s nothing, Bethany, stop!” He refrained from telling her that it wasn’t as if he hadn’t _tried_ to get Anders out of his mind with half a dozen people already, with no results. She probably knew, anyway.

Bethany stooped quickly, snatching up the discarded page and waving it threateningly at him, which was at least better than beating him up. “You’re telling me this is nothing. That,” she checked it, “Father Anders invites _everyone_ to confession, personally, in a hastily scrawled note, for missing one Mass.”

“I have no idea what the good Father usually does,” Hawke sniffed, pretending he wasn’t twitching to grab the note back and keep it somewhere safe.

“Not fucking _this_.” Pressing the piece of paper to her brother’s chest with one finger, Bethany eyed him until he took it, and then patted his cheek, as if she hadn’t spent the last five minutes harassing him. “Be careful, big brother,” she said, giving him a resigned look.

“I’ll be fine, dear sister,” he replied. “But I’ll take your violently bestowed wisdom into consideration, as always.” He gestured a bow with the note, and she scoffed as she left the room.

* * *

Anders spent Tuesday reflexively looking towards the door, wondering if Hawke would accept his invitation. He tried his best to tend to the Chantry and the few parishioners that did arrive, pushing aside his worries to assist those in need.

He was good at helping others; it was why he had become a priest. His faith in the Maker and His Bride was important, of course, and he’d always been Andrastian, even when he was younger and living a dreadfully sinful life. He was called to the role as the poverty and suffering of the world became too much for him to see, day after day. With the Chantry’s backing, he’d hoped he would be able to offer much greater support.

He hadn’t known, then, how thoroughly politics were intertwined in that assistance, and how much of a struggle it would be to deal with people like Sebastian, who hid behind the Maker’s words to mask their own prejudices. The work was still valuable, still needed, and though his clinic in Darktown couldn’t do everything, at least it was _something_. The life of servitude and devotion he led was enough.

And then Garrett Hawke had come into his life, and now nothing was enough anymore; not the clinic, not the Chantry, not the nights he spent fighting with himself over his guilt, the times the priest got himself off imagining all the ways he could have the man. Hawke’s presence was a distraction from his duties, an irresistible reminder of what he had given up to follow his cause. They’d already gone much farther than they should, but Maker help him, Anders still wanted more. It wasn’t just his attraction to Hawke, with his infernally handsome face and perfectly sculpted body; with their interactions, Anders had a taste of being a _person_ again, not just a function, and it was a pleasant interlude to combat the repetitive days and lonely nights.

He’d been anxious on Sunday, full of trepidation at the potential of seeing Hawke again, which turned into fear when he couldn’t spot the man in the congregation, when he hadn’t come through his line to receive communion. He’d worried that Hawke had gone to Sebastian instead in an effort to avoid him. After service, when he saw Leandra and Bethany Hawke without Garrett, he acted impulsively, asking Bethany to wait a moment while he wrote a note to her brother. He justified it to himself by thinking that Hawke deserved to know the Chantry was still a place he could come to for guidance, regardless of Anders’ presence. He refused to admit that he’d been genuinely worried that he’d misstepped, and whatever they’d been enjoying would end.

It’d be better if it did, he thought, better for both of them to stop this before Anders broke his vows, before they were discovered, before everything he’d worked for these many years to crash down around him, all for the want of one man.

His head turned towards the door expectantly as it opened, but it was only a woman who needed information on Chantry events from the offices upstairs. When Anders returned to the nave after escorting her there and back, he glanced around with a slight frown. He could have sworn he’d heard the door, but no one was waiting for him or in any of the pews.

He suddenly noticed the closed door of the confessional booth, and his heart raced. He scolded himself as he made his way down the aisle; it might not even be him, he shouldn’t get his hopes up, he shouldn’t be feeling excitement at the prospect of hearing Hawke’s sultry voice again, and when had he decided it was _sultry_ , anyway?

Anders sat on the confessional bench, the door clicking shut behind him, his ears strained for any noise, absurdly thinking that he would be able to tell Hawke’s presence by the sound of his breathing.

“Do you seek confession, my child?” Anders asked. The scoff he earned in response released the tension he’d been holding in his shoulders, and he relaxed, half of him almost giddy with relief that he hadn’t scared the man off, and the other half struggling with the horror of that realization.

“Something like that,” Hawke replied. “But only if you wish to hear it, Father.”

Still hesitant, then, but he’d come anyway, which meant his ill-considered note hadn’t been in vain. “I am always willing to help a member of the faithful,” the priest responded, then paused, trying to find words that were more proper than his thoughts. _Tell me your fantasies._ “No matter the sins that may keep them up at night.”

A laugh came from the other booth, Hawke catching himself quickly to stop the noise. “If you put it like that, then I suppose it’s all right.”

“When you’re ready, then.” Anders leaned back, apprehensive and anticipatory.

Hawke shifted, the wooden seat creaking. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," he murmured against the screen, his voice rough and dark, like damnation itself to Anders' ears. "It is one week since my last confession."

"Your devotion to your salvation is admirable, my son," Anders replied, in a far-too playful tone, knowing Hawke could likely hear the smirk in his voice. _One week, indeed,_ he thought, lust and guilt warring in his mind. Hawke's last confession had left Anders eager to exact penance from the man. "Continue." He crossed a leg and kept his hands clasped together in his lap, determined not to fall to weakness again.

"I accuse myself of the following sins," Hawke said. "I have felt sinful thoughts for one of the Maker's servants; worse, I have corrupted this servant with my own base desires, purposefully teasing him with filth and depravity until he succumbed to lust.” There was a pause, and Hawke sighed softly.

“And I’m pretty sure we both know who that is by now, so why don’t I drop the pretense?

“It did nothing to lessen my want for _you_ , Father, it only made it worse. I want to get on my knees before you and beg forgiveness. I want you to make me lick away the evidence of your sin with my tongue, have me suck it from your fingers and clean it from your cock."

Anders took a deep breath, urging himself to relax, fingers twitching. Maker knew he hadn’t needed the revelation to know the truth, but simply hearing those words directed at him stirred a terrible longing within him. He scolded himself on not remaining silent enough the last time, and waited for Hawke to continue.

"I want you to do terrible things to me, to make me beg and scream and Father, I ache for you. I can't stop thinking about your voice and the little noises you made, how it would feel to touch you, to kiss you..." Hawke groaned softly, and Anders could barely hear the rustle of fabric. "I want you so badly I can't help but touch myself, right here, thinking about you."

 _Fuck_ , Anders thought, and he was again biting the knuckle of his thumb to keep from making a noise, fire coursing through his veins at the idea of Hawke pleasuring himself only inches away. He wanted to look through the screen, wanted so badly to glimpse the man's cock and the strong hand stroking it, wanted to see how hard and thick it was, but he resisted and closed his eyes instead. He had to, otherwise he'd be undone all over again.

"Father, please, I need..." Hawke's breath hitched, voice hardly a murmur, the sound of his hand pumping his cock almost louder than the words.

With a resolve he had forgotten he possessed, Anders steadily asked, "What do you need?"

"Anything."

"Forgiveness?"

"Give me your blessing, please, just..." He trailed off, voice already ragged, and Anders was afraid of what he'd do if Hawke actually came right there in the confessional, if he could even handle that without losing his mind or his immortal soul.

"If your confession is done, say the words," he ordered, and _this_ , yes. He knew how to do this, fell back into the role like he’d never been ordained, never had to give up his desires to dedicate himself to a cause as he had so many years ago.

There was a muffled whimper, and then Hawke complied, breathlessly. "I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past life."

"Your first act of penance is to stop."

"I’m so close..."

" _Stop_ ," Anders growled, and there was a gasp from Hawke, the slick sounds ceasing suddenly, the impact of a hand against the confessional wall, broken panting. "Your second act of penance is to withhold from succumbing to such desires. You are forbidden from touching yourself until your next confession. Do you understand?"

There was another whimper, and Anders heard Hawke adjust his clothing. "I understand."

"Good. Perform these acts of penance and your sins shall be absolved." Anders' voice was calm, but his hands shook with the urge to fling open the doors and take Hawke right there in the booth, bent over and begging for it like the man wanted... no, like they _both_ wanted. It was far too late to deny that now. "Go now with my blessing. Give thanks to the Maker for He is good."

"For His mercy endures forever," Hawke replied, voice strained, and Anders let out a held breath as the man exited the confessional, remaining in place with his hands clenched together long after he heard the heavy Chantry doors open and close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter 6.5](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7095445/chapters/18852877) is now available for anyone who wishes to read the sinful interlude between this chapter and the next.


	7. Chapter 7

_My Creator, judge me whole:_  
_Find me well within Your grace_  
_Touch me with fire that I be cleansed_  
_Tell me I have sung to Your approval_  
_Transfigurations 12:4_

 

Fridays at the Chantry were always empty, with everyone in Kirkwall doing their best to forget about the Maker and push through their day to make it to the weekend. Sebastian spent far too long hovering around uselessly as if waiting for divine inspiration on what to busy himself with, before mentioning a headache and a need for rest. Anders didn't mind being left alone in the slightest; he took it to be a blessing. He stood in the side chapel which honoured some of the figures in Andraste's life, enjoying the calm and the candlelight, trying in vain to stop his mind from conjuring fantasies of someone else bathed in candlelight before him.

In the last few days since Hawke’s confession, Anders had attempted to simply  _bury_ himself in work at the clinic and the Chantry. His unoccupied mind always returned to that tortured gasp of denial, to whether Hawke was following his penance, or if he had simply scoffed once out of sight and ignored his instructions as the demands of his overly-forward priest.

Anders quite hoped he was obeying. He hoped that Hawke ached with it, having been so close to release and then denied, and that the days since had been sweet agony. He wondered if Hawke lay in bed at night gritting his teeth with frustration, his cock thick and heavy between his legs but refraining from touching himself, all on Anders’ word.

As lost in his fantasies as he was, Anders hadn’t heard the door, so when he rounded the corner behind the chapel and almost ran into Hawke in the flesh, he nearly yelped in shock. “Blessed Andraste,” he choked, wincing at the blasphemy and putting a hand to his chest to soothe his racing heart, while Hawke recovered from his surprise with a bark of laughter.

“Not quite, Father,” he said, that charming grin making Anders scowl for how easy the man could disarm him. Hawke’s jacket was wet, droplets caught in his dishevelled black hair. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s fine,” Anders replied, clearing his throat. “I should have been paying more attention.” His eyes followed a bead of water as it traced along Hawke’s stubbled cheek. “Is it raining? I’ve been inside all morning.”

“Yeah, and I don’t believe in umbrellas.” Hawke ran a hand through his damp hair and glanced around the Chantry slyly as he shook water onto the pristine floor. “Eventful day?” he joked.

Anders gestured toward the empty rows. “You could say that.”

“Well, now that I’m here, it could get more interesting.” His words were quieter, pitched only for Anders’ ears, despite the deserted building.

Anders raised an eyebrow, restraining his body’s involuntary reaction to Hawke’s voice and his suggestive words. “Why are you here, Hawke?”

And for once, it seemed the man was at a loss for words. “I… would you believe I was in the neighborhood?” He tried another smirk, and it was less charming, more forced. “I was on my way to work.”

“And you felt like seeking the Maker beforehand?”

“Not the Maker, no.”

Anders’ breath caught, halfway to making a comment about Hawke’s priorities, when he met the man’s dark eyes and actually  _looked_ at him; Hawke’s bottom lip chapped and gnawed, the subtle shifting of his weight from one foot to another, and the lustful, pleading look he gave Anders, as if he’d come to the priest for salvation instead of the Maker Himself.

 _Andraste’s grace, he’d obeyed._ Anders’ hands trembled at the thought as lust spiked through him. “Is this about your penance?” he asked, his voice lowering to match, raising his chin as he adopted a harder tone.

Hawke’s eyes darted around the Chantry cautiously before he stepped closer. They were almost hidden behind the wall of the chapel, partly obscured by a column. Anders could feel Hawke’s radiating body heat, the other man almost too close to excuse away to any potential onlookers. “Please,” he said, almost inaudible. “I can’t...” He shook his head slightly, water spattering onto his jacket collar. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

"It's been three days, Hawke." Anders' eyes sparkled with amusement. "Surely you're used to going without longer than that." It took all of his willpower not to give in right there, not to throw Hawke against the wall and give him a taste of what Anders had been unable to stop thinking about these last few days. “You asked for penance, and I gave it. Unless you don’t think you should be punished for your sins?” He let his voice linger over the words, watched Hawke lick his lips nervously. “You need the punishment, I think.”

“Yes,” Hawke breathed, voice almost a whisper. “I want that. I…” He straightened, as if trying to steady himself. “I’ll be here Sunday to confess.”

“Tuesday.” When the other man looked shocked, he held up a hand between them to quiet any forthcoming protest. “No one confesses Tuesday nights. Except you,” he added, with a wry smirk. His nerves fluttered with what he was saying, the fact that they were negotiating… whatever this was, in the Chantry itself, under Andraste’s watchful eye.

Hawke clenched his jaw, but his eyes were hopeful. “Will you… fuck. I can’t…” His hands balled into fists, agonizing over his next words, until he stepped forward, walking into Anders’ raised hand. The priest’s palm brushed his jacket. They were far too close now, and Anders should act, should shove him away and stop this, but Hawke was so solid and real before him that he didn’t move.

“I need more,” he begged, voice strained with desire. The fabric against Anders’ fingers was soft and damp, Hawke’s skin warm under the layers.

“More what?” Anders asked softly. “More penance?”

“Anything,” Hawke replied immediately. “I’d beg you to fuck me if I thought there was a chance you’d do it. It’s only been a few days and I’m already,” he gestured down at himself, wordlessly, “I can’t. Please. Give me something.”

"Hawke," Anders breathed, reaching up slowly to fist his hand in the collar of the man's polo shirt, trembling with want as he pulled him infinitesimally closer. "I may have taken vows, but... I'm still a man. Don't expect me to resist temptation forever."

Hawke's eyes widened, then his lips quirked into that infuriating smirk. "I don't want you to resist," he purred, pressing forward into Anders’ hand.

Anders let out a shaky breath, fingers still curled in Hawke’s shirt as his thoughts raced, until one in particular broke through.  _Fuck the vows,_ he thought decisively,  _I’m not breaking anything with this yet - just touching - oh, please just let me touch._

When he surged forward suddenly, he didn't capture Hawke's lips as expected. His left hand slid up, gripping Hawke's bearded jaw to tilt his head back, and his mouth latched onto the pulse of the man's neck. Hawke drew in a startled breath as he sucked, a whine catching low in his throat - and oh, how Anders had  _missed_ this, missed the feeling of controlling someone, holding them down, giving and taking until they arched and writhed and whimpered.

His hand left Hawke’s jaw, then, and he dragged his fingertips down the man’s neck, scraping over beard and stubble until they rested at his collar. Anders pressed in gently, holding him in place with the grip on his throat, intoxicated by the taste of Hawke’s skin against his tongue, and finally couldn't resist biting down with a quiet shudder, hand tightening around Hawke’s throat.

Hawke jerked back at that, letting out a ragged curse that sounded deafening in the closed space, and his flinch splashed ice water over the burning need in Anders' gut. The priest yanked away as if he'd been slapped, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. The mark on Hawke’s throat was already dark red like a brand, indentations of his teeth just fading from white. Too much, too far, shoving his wants and tastes onto other people again as if he'd never learned his lesson. "Forgive me," he choked out, to everyone involved: the man in front of him, Blessed Andraste, echoes in his past.

Hawke braced himself against the column, panting raggedly, staring after the man's fleeing back and harder than he'd ever been in his life - and still maddeningly unable to do anything about it. He wasn't certain what had gone wrong - whether it was Anders' guilt at what they were doing or something he’d done - but he ached for more of the taste he'd been given.

* * *

Anders really, desperately needed a drink, so much so that any hesitations he’d had about returning to his traditional bar were unimportant. It had been nearly a month since he had visited the Hanged Man, scared off by that first meeting, when he’d allowed himself to flirt idly with a saucy, handsome man, which had turned into this infuriating situation. But with the events of the afternoon, he felt himself in very deep trouble, indeed, and he needed to relax.

Stepping up to the counter, Anders suppressed a sigh and called out for the bartender’s attention, noting that they’d apparently hired someone new in the weeks he had been gone. Someone showing off their arm muscles with the rolled-up sleeves of their shirt, and apparently more interested in flirting with a man at the other end of the bar than in providing any real service.

And then the bartender turned around, and Anders choked. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” slipped out before he could help it.

For a moment, Hawke looked just as shocked as he was, and then he smirked, sauntering over to rest his coarsely haired arms on the counter and look Anders up and down. “No collar tonight, Father?” he murmured, low enough the other patrons couldn’t have heard his words even if any of them had been paying attention.

The mention of “collar” had Anders’ eyes darting down to Hawke’s, which was not at all hiding the mark the priest had left on him, the red staining Hawke’s skin in a shameless reminder of Anders’ tainted urges. Hawke noticed the glance and his eyes darkened, about to say something when the owner’s voice boomed from the other end of the bar.

“Hey Hawke, if you’re gonna hit on the patrons, do it on your own time!” Varric yelled, tossing a dishrag at Hawke’s head while the other people at the bar laughed. “Don’t even think about sneaking into the bathroom with a guy again, either, you shit.”

“How dare you slander my good name?” Hawke retorted over his shoulder, making a show of putting a hand to his heart and looking shocked. Anders flinched, praying that he wasn’t blushing, but all attention was thankfully on Hawke.

As Varric came closer to insult his bartender further, he recognized the patron he’d been yelling about and cut himself off. “Uh… excuse me, Father Blondie,” he laughed self-consciously, a long-standing nickname he’d adopted when he couldn’t seem to remember the man’s name.

After trading rude gestures with his boss, Hawke turned back to the priest, who said, “The cider on tap, please,” in a properly restrained tone. Anders clenched his fingers as Hawke’s look lingered a beat longer before he turned to fetch his drink, and he took a breath to calm his nerves. The patrons had turned back to watching the baseball game, which was a welcome distraction from Hawke bending over to fetch a pint glass from under the counter.

Anders debated leaving out of sheer frustration. Surprised by Hawke twice in the same day, worn ragged with lust and guilt, and now trying to quell the sharp, angry spike of jealousy at Varric’s insinuations. He knew it was irrational; of course Hawke had been with other men in the past weeks, he was gorgeous and flirtatious, and Anders was bound by vows, besides the fact that he had absolutely no claim over the man. It was ridiculous to think otherwise, he told himself, as Hawke returned with his drink, a subtle swagger to his walk.

“Sit down and watch the game,” Hawke suggested quietly, leaning his hip against the counter as if bored.

“I don’t care for baseball,” Anders replied, a bit harshly, sipping his cider.

Hawke gave him a pointed look, then inclined his head towards the televisions and the captive audience at the counter. They were at the far end of the bar, and with everyone’s attention on how well the Kirkwall Champions were playing, it seemed they could have a few moments to themselves. There came the urge to run again - but that would solve nothing. Anders slid onto a barstool and leaned his elbows on the counter. He met Hawke’s brown eyes, crinkled in amusement, that smirk of his never fading.

“I… apologize, for earlier.” Anders said, cheeks flushed as he glanced down at Hawke’s collar and then away. “I’m afraid I got carried away.”

“You did. And if you hadn’t stopped so soon, you’d have known how fucking turned on I was when I came all over myself,” Hawke purred, pretending to sort items behind the counter.

The priest’s fingers clenched around his glass. “Fuck,” he murmured, and took a long drink.

“If only,” Hawke replied with a wistful sigh.

“It sounds like you aren’t quite  _lacking_ in that sort of thing,” Anders retorted stiffly.

The man raised an eyebrow and met Anders’ eyes again, obviously fighting a grin. “Oh, is that how this works? First of all,” he said, leaning in closer to keep his voice low, “yes, I’ve been fucked by other men, including sucking off some guy in a fucking stall yesterday when I was too hard to even think, thank you. And secondly, what do you expect me to do when all I can think of is your hands on me, wishing it was  _you_ , and not them, fucking me open, or shoving your cock down my throat?”

Anders opened his mouth in shock, grasping for a response, but Hawke wasn’t done. He leaned closer, pretending to wipe the counter next to the priest, hissing, “What else could I do? You wouldn’t touch me. Are you going to judge me for it, Father?”

A call from down the bar diverted Hawke’s attention, leaving Anders alone for a minute to collect his thoughts and drink the remainder of his cider, almost desperately.

The man returned once the patron was satisfied, smirking at the priest and resuming his casual stance against the bar. He rested his arm on the counter, strong fingers tapping too close to Anders’.

“You’ve been holding out on me in confession,” Anders finally said, and Hawke snorted a laugh that was covered by the patrons cheering over a home run.

“My confessions aren’t interesting enough for you, Father?” Hawke grinned. “Well, I certainly hope you’ll be satisfied by next week’s. Fuck, I hope  _I’m_ satisfied by next week’s.” He traced the blatant mark on his neck, watching Anders’ face. “The penance you assigned is a little… distracting.”

Finding his footing, Anders shook his head, tossed back the rest of the cider, and smirked. “Good. You deserve exactly what you’re getting. And do you really want me to ruin the surprise of your reward?”

Hawke’s eyes widened, his fingers stopping their repetitive movement. “It’s not nice to tease like that.” He stretched his hand across the bartop, his index finger close to where Anders’ hand was wrapped around his glass. “You have vows.”

“I do.” Anders returned Hawke’s stare, raising his eyebrows. “But you aren’t the only one being distracted by your penance.”

There was the slightest brush of Hawke’s finger against the back of his hand, and he resisted the urge to flinch away from the touch. The bartender leaned in, his voice husky with longing. “Maybe you’ll just have to be creative, then. Wouldn’t want you breaking those vows.”

Anders was close enough to feel Hawke’s breath as he spoke, his words evoking all sorts of images that the priest shouldn’t be thinking of, but he let himself savour them nonetheless. He allowed Hawke’s fingers to brush down towards his wrist, the simple touch far more arousing than it should have been.

He didn’t know what he would have ended up doing, had the crowd at the bar not erupted in a cheer, and he blushed, jerking back in the stool, away from Hawke and his piercing stare. He pushed the empty glass across the bar, fished out a bill and slapped it onto the counter. “Enjoy your penance, Mr. Hawke.”

“Tuesday,” Hawke nodded, gaze hungrily trailing down Anders’ body. It felt like an agreement had been reached, and anticipation shivered down the priest’s spine.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter originally titled "You're welcome, fuckers," but we thought that was a bit much. Happy Holidays <3

_I the Maker search the heart and test the mind,_  
_to give every man according to his ways,_  
_according to the fruit of his deeds._  
_Transfigurations 17:10_

 

Hawke's stomach was already twisting with heat and anticipation as he entered the Chantry. He had quite gotten used to being able to get off regularly, since arriving at Kirkwall, and the willing denial was an agony that burned through his veins, setting his skin to itching. But it had been the promised week, and... a few aspects of his relationship with the priest had changed, in the interim. He had hopes for tonight.

The Chantry nave was unsurprisingly empty, and the confessional door lay open, Anders nowhere in sight. Hawke's brow furrowed, but he had a few other places to check before deciding he had driven the man off in a flurry of regrets.

When he found Anders in the side chapel, looking serene and handsome in the candlelight, Hawke sighed in relief. He stopped to watch for just a moment, hand on the doorframe, hypersensitive of the way his clothes brushed against his skin with every breath.

Anders heard the heavy doors open, but didn't move; he'd tried to deny his anticipation of Hawke's visit, but his pulse raced with both anxiety and excitement. He could hear footsteps echoing across the stone floor, and waited to see where the parishioner would go, thinking that they may only want some solitude for their prayers. But the footsteps stopped just outside, and the lack of formal greeting and the soft sigh betrayed who had arrived.

The priest willed himself to relax and turned slightly, his breath catching at the look of utter desire in the man's eyes. "Good evening, Mr. Hawke," he said, and allowed himself a small smirk. "Have you come to confess your sins?"

Hawke's gaze lingered on Anders' lips, and he swallowed, then forced a smirk of his own, pushing off of the doorframe to saunter forward, almost stalking. "We're not in the confessional, Father. It would be inappropriate to tell you, out here in the open, what sins I've been thinking of this past week." He let his eyes trail down the priest's body, concealed beneath his robes, in a blatant show of just what he was referring to.

Anders refused to step forward, merely facing Hawke and watching him approach, suppressing a shiver as the man's eyes wandered over him. Hawke stopped a polite distance away, and the priest’s fingers itched, wanting to wrap them in the fabric of Hawke's shirt and pull him closer, the remembered taste of his skin making Anders lick his lips. "I wonder what you could possibly do in a week to cause such need for forgiveness." His voice darkened, the hint of Hawke's scent and the man's desperation threatening to break his resolve. "I hope you haven't forgotten your penance."

A thrill ran down Hawke's spine, and his smirk slipped as he took in a breath. "I haven't forgotten," he said quietly, hand twitching forward before he forced it into stillness at his side. They had a strange sort of balance, here, and he wasn't sure where the tipping point was, whether he was allowed to touch at all.

Glancing over his shoulder at the open door, Hawke asked, "Would you like me to confess my sins, Father?"

It was tempting, so very tempting, to take Hawke into the confessional and hear another of his filthy fantasies, to give him permission to touch himself and listen to him fall apart through the safety of his booth. But that wasn't enough, Maker damn his soul, and if Anders was to be cursed then he would let himself have this, whatever it would become, because he couldn't _think_ with this man around anymore, let alone focus on his duties.

Anders stepped around to Hawke's side, pleased that he was just slightly taller than the other man; he held his posture straight to increase the effect, and leaned in so that his breath murmured against Hawke's ear. "That depends. Can you handle another week?"

A raw sound tore from Hawke's throat, the words, the whisper, the purr in his ear shocking through his sensitized body as he squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head to feel it better. He nearly reached up to touch, to grab Anders by the front of his robes just to have that contact, and his hands clenched tightly at his sides to prevent it. "No," he whimpered, "please." He could hardly stand it now, the way his body ached, much less contemplate another week of this torment.

The reaction nearly undid Anders, the shock of arousal that sparked through his veins enough to make him hide a groan behind a faint laugh. The temptation to force Hawke to his knees and make him beg for release was so strong that Anders had to tighten his fingers into a fist, digging nails into his palm, unconsciously mirroring Hawke’s stance. This was too open, too dangerous for them to do this here. "Follow me," he said, turning to head to the stairs, making sure to run the fingers of his other hand just barely across Hawke's shoulder as he passed.

Hawke shivered at the simple touch, then gaped after Anders' retreating form. The priest was... taking him somewhere private? This promised to be more than he could have hoped for. A curl of heat shot through his gut, anticipation and need, and then he was following like a lodestone, not knowing where they were going but unable to do anything but obey.

Thanking the Maker seemed to be too depraved for the current situation, so Anders only thought it lucky that he was able to lead Hawke through the deserted Chantry, up the stairs and into one of the pastoral offices, without displaying his nervousness. He'd had no doubts that Hawke would follow; they were both too far gone for anything less.

He opened the door for Hawke, giving him a reassuring smile. Once inside, the click of the door shutting was enough permission to let him act. Hands fisted into the fabric of Hawke's jacket as he pushed Hawke against the wall, still keeping him at arm’s length. It was a marvel that Hawke had lasted an entire week, because Anders certainly hadn't, and yet he yearned so deeply for this, this closeness, that he had to fight not to close the distance between them. "Did you complete your penance, my son? Did you suffer? Did you _ache_ with it?"

Hawke tilted his head back against the wall, and he groaned, dizzy with need, hands coming up to clutch at Anders' wrists. "I'm aching _now_ ," he objected, hardly able to concentrate from lust and the promise that it would soon be sated, but still finding it in him to provoke the priest. "You tell me, Father," he panted, arching up to feel the restraining hands pinning him in place, and batted his eyelashes coyly. "Is my suffering enough?"

 _Andraste's mercy, but this man will be the death of me,_ Anders thought. He was close enough to feel Hawke's breath against his lips and he wanted - needed - to touch, taste, _take_ , but that restraining voice in his mind, the last lingering presence reminding him of his vows, made him growl in frustration. He released Hawke only to turn him around, pressing the man against the wall, hands gripping strong shoulders as he pressed his body against Hawke's, shuddering at the contact but still holding his hips back from that lovely ass. "Is it suffering if you enjoy it?" he purred.

"Please," was the first word that fell from Hawke's lips. His skin tingled at Anders' presence behind him, and he had been hard since the moment he walked into the Chantry but now he positively burned with it. There was no bare skin, no explicit sexual contact, only the length of the priest's body against his back, and it was almost enough even so, his hips jerking back while Anders' were held tantalizingly out of reach.

"I didn't enjoy it," Hawke panted into the wall, bringing his hands up to lay over the priest’s where they clutched at his shoulders. "It was agony. It's _still_ agony, _Maker_."

Hawke's fingers over his own made Anders rock forward, and as Hawke's ragged voice begged for relief, Anders pressed against him fully, his cock aching under the layers of his robe. He moaned softly against Hawke's neck, holding still and waiting. "Tell me what you want," he murmured.

"Fuck," Hawke bit out, arching back as best he could with his body surrounded so. He tried to mimic Anders' stillness, but couldn't hold out for long and thrust backwards, sliding his ass against the hardness he could feel so easily. "You know what I want. I think I've described quite thoroughly what I think about - and this past week hasn't made the thoughts go away, just the actions." He rambled, trying to keep his thoughts focused, to keep still with some semblance of obedience, when all he wanted was to grind back, to hear Anders make his soft noises again, and earn his release.

Anders nearly whimpered at the feel of Hawke rubbing himself against his cock, and he thrust forward, just enough to keep that slight, teasing friction. It might even be just enough, if Hawke kept talking. "I free you from your penance," he whispered against Hawke's ear, tonguing the lobe and feeling the man shiver under him. "You may touch yourself."

Unsteady hands dropped off Anders' and to his own jeans immediately, unfastening them shakily, and Hawke let out an incoherent groan of pleasure as he felt his own intimate touch for the first time since the priest had told him to _stop_ a week ago. He was eager, probably too eager, using both hands as if to steal as much pleasure as possible before Anders changed his mind. He clutched at the shaft and palmed the leaking head, rolling his hips back into Anders' to feel the hard line of his cock slide against his ass and imagine what it might feel like.

"Thank you, Father," Hawke breathed, almost an afterthought.

Anders closed his eyes and focused on Hawke, his gasping breaths and the movement of his arms as he stroked, the way his hips rocked back against Anders' as he thrust into his own hands. The priest released his shoulders and wrapped one arm around Hawke's waist, pulling them flush together, bracing himself against the wall with the other hand. He allowed himself an indulgence, his hand slipping under Hawke's shirt, barely caressing warm skin and the coarse hair that lay across his navel. "Yes, that's it, stroke yourself for me," Anders purred. "Oh, yes..." He ground harder against Hawke, lips against the man's neck.

Hawke groaned helplessly, head falling back onto Anders' shoulder as he writhed between his own hands and Anders' hips. The fingertips on his stomach, so tauntingly close to where he wanted them, and Anders' words of praise and encouragement seared through him, leaving him panting into the still Chantry air. "Please, Maker, so close," he moaned, nearly fucking himself on the impression of the priest's cock. "I want you inside me, Father, your hand on my cock, your tongue in my mouth, ohfuck it's been hard but I was so _good for you_ \- "

His hand tightened, hips stuttered forward, and then Hawke was coming hard and long over his stomach with a loud cry, coating Anders' fingers and his own with thick seed.

Hawke trembling against him, the catch in his breath as his sinful words faltered, brought up imagery that made Anders rut harder, desperately, against that firm, lovely ass. “Fucking _Maker_ ,” he groaned as Hawke came, the shout and his own blasphemy ringing in his ears as his teeth sank into Hawke’s neck, ecstasy shuddering through him as he spilled under his clothes.

He clutched at Hawke as he panted, and when he realized his hand was damp his knees almost gave out as another shiver wracked him. He withdrew the arm from Hawke’s waist, still leaning against that strong, warm back, and looked at the streak of Hawke’s cum across his fingers in near reverence.

A bit dazed, Hawke glanced over his shoulder, catching Anders’ eye before his attention was drawn to the priest’s fingers. Without thinking, he turned his head to flick his tongue over Anders’ knuckles, his spent cock twitching as he tasted himself. He smirked at the choked sound that came from the other man as he sucked one long finger into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around the tip and moaning softly.

“Good,” Anders murmured approvingly, pressing another finger in once the first was done, letting Hawke lick and suck at each in turn. “Clean your mess. We can’t leave the Chantry defiled, can we?”

“No, of course not,” Hawke replied breathlessly, when Anders finally withdrew his hand.

He was about to say more, but Anders put a finger to his lips to silence him and murmured, “You’ve made a mess on the wall, haven’t you?”

Hawke made a soft noise in his throat and glanced down, taking note of his own rumpled appearance and the wet trail along the wall. Anders’ hand trailed from his mouth to the back of his head, weaving through dark hair and pulling - just a little, just enough for him to register the threat - and a shiver went down his spine as heat coursed through him again. He sank to his knees and leaned forward, Anders’ fingers still twisted in his hair, and obediently lapped the line of cum from the wall, whimpering at Anders’ pleased hum.

The priest had to force himself to stop petting Hawke’s hair, removing his hand with a final tug. “Stand up,” he ordered. Hawke complied, his legs stiff from tension, and Anders reluctantly stepped back, immediately missing the warmth of the other man’s body against his.

Anders took a breath, the faint chill in the air bringing him back to himself. This shouldn’t have happened - but now that it had, he found he didn’t regret it. The intimacy, the control, how much Hawke had enjoyed it, all made him shudder and ache with the need for more.

And yet, he had sworn that part of his life away.

Hawke noticed the frown lingering on Anders’ face when he looked up from fastening his trousers, and raised his head in challenge. Especially now that they’d actually moved beyond simple flirting - not that getting his priest off in the confessional with his words alone was in any way _simple flirting_ \- he didn’t intend for this to slip away easily. “Tell me this wasn’t a one-time thing, Anders.”

Straightening, Anders raised an eyebrow. “No ‘Father’ this time, Mr. Hawke?” he asked, sidestepping the question, and Hawke snorted.

“I rather hope we’re a little beyond that now, but if you prefer, I can call you Father when you fuck me.”

The priest closed his eyes at the thrill that ran through him from Hawke’s words. “You’re very persistent,” he commented, reopening them to fix the man with a piercing stare.

“I do try,” Hawke grinned, “and look where it’s gotten us.”

 _In trouble,_ Anders thought, but he only smirked. “It sounds like you need another week of penance, Hawke.”

“No ‘Mister,’ Anders?”

Anders refused to let Hawke go so easy, with that smug look on his face, and reached out to fist that disheveled dark hair again, twisting it in his fingers. “Do you need another week, _Mister_ Hawke?”

How quickly he folded, Anders marveled, as Hawke winced and rasped, “I can’t… I don’t think I could take it.”

“You’ll take what I tell you to take,” Anders purred, his eyes trailing down to Hawke’s exposed throat and the fading red mark he’d left days before. “Won’t you?”

“Yes, fuck, but… I can’t do it again, not so soon, please,” Hawke pleaded, his gaze desperate. “Not without something to look forward to at the end of it.”

Fuck, this man was beautiful. Anders resisted the urge to crush their mouths together using the hand clenched in his hair, but it was a close thing. “We’ll see,” he said with a smile, releasing his grip and letting his hand fall to linger on Hawke’s jaw. “You’re lovely when you beg.”

He stepped away, ignoring the whimper he received in response, fearing what he would do if he stayed so close to the man, his soiled underclothes testament enough to his lack of willpower. “See you at Mass, Mr. Hawke.”

[ ](http://mevima.tumblr.com/post/140154597305/mevima-un-shit-yourself-dudes-look-i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Art](http://un-shit-yourself.tumblr.com/post/140132553108/dudes-look-i-commissioned-mevima-for-a-thing) for this chapter was commissioned by un-shit-yourself from Mevima.


	9. Chapter 9

_You, Maker, keep my lamp burning; You turn my darkness into light._  
_Trials 18:28_

 

Funalis fell on Thursday that year, and regardless of anything else Anders would prefer to focus on during his usual day off, the Chantry would always come first. The holiday marked the death of Andraste and a time of remembrance and prayer for the departed. Sebastian and he had prepared the Chantry for Grand Cleric Elthina’s visit, and made sure that the private altars and the grounds were taken care of for the groups of mourners who would arrive to pay respects. It was common for parishioners to leave candles and offerings at the graves of their loved ones, and give prayers to ease their souls through the passage of the Fade to the Maker’s side in the Golden City.

Everything was ready for the holiday, which left Anders with some time alone with his thoughts. He wasn't sure how he’d expected to feel after that encounter with Hawke, but the reality didn't match up with how he thought he should have felt: he was relaxed, content, even giddy. There was worry and guilt hanging behind it, to be sure, but his overall attitude after he'd escorted Hawke out of the Chantry, promise heavy in both their eyes, was one of _relief_.

He fingered the amulet of St. Kristoff thoughtfully, staring up at Andraste, as he waited in the early morning hours for the first parishioners to file in for the holiday. He had chosen the saint as his patron many years ago, when he was full of rebellion and vengeance, but it had still been a wise decision. Justice was one of the things he'd joined the Chantry for - justice for all the poverty-stricken people struggling desperately to survive. He’d been selfish in his youth, and now he’d found healthier ways to see justice done, however small they may be, but every effort seemed to be blockaded with politics.

Hawke, though. Hawke was a pleasant distraction, and one he was growing inclined to allow himself. Nearly six years had passed since he had touched another person sexually, and it had felt amazingly good to let himself go, to touch and taste and want in all the ways he'd suppressed since starting on the path to becoming a priest.

Abruptly, Anders realized he was clutching the little symbol hard enough for it to sting his palm, and he relaxed, giving it an absent kiss before tucking it back inside his shirt, beneath the rosary. Andraste looked down on him placidly, eyes kind as always, and he bowed his head to her, wondering how far he intended to let this association with Hawke go.

Only a few minutes later, the large Chantry doors swung open with a loud creak, and a subdued family filtered into the nave. Anders rose, setting aside his wandering thoughts for the moment to direct and comfort the mourners.

As the morning passed and more parishioners arrived, he and Sebastian saw to those who required assistance with their offerings, and Revered Mother Leliana made sure to meet with each worshipper, offering a prayer of her own to the departed. The Grand Cleric would arrive at sundown to give a benediction before the Sacred Pyre was lit in commemoration of Andraste’s sacrifice, and Anders hoped to speak with her privately about his clinic. With the influx of “donations” from indulgences bought in the hopes of hastening passage to the Golden City, there should be a bit of excess funding available.

Halfway through the day, the Hawkes joined the procession of families lighting candles and praying for the dead, though their affluence set them apart from most of the others. Bethany and Garrett each carried a large candle, and Leandra walked regally behind them, a black veil across her features. Anders couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t been keeping an eye out for them; from what he remembered of the _appropriate_ parts of Hawke’s confessions, he’d lost a brother recently.

He held back from approaching them, but when Hawke glanced around the nave and met his eyes, Anders nodded, his pulse quickening at just the sight of the man. Hawke offered a restrained smile in return, and followed his mother and sister into a side chapel where they could mourn privately.

Anders made his way down the aisle, pausing to greet and offer condolences and support as he went, but kept an eye out in the hopes of a chance to speak to Hawke privately. Soon, the man took a donation envelope from his mother and walked away, leaving the two women alone with their quiet words while he moved to the front of the Chantry. Hawke looked irritated, but still favoured the Revered Mother with a polite smile as she accepted his family’s indulgence offering, and received her blessing graciously.

Instead of rejoining his family, Hawke sat in a pew next to a wall of candles that had been lit for the departed at the back of the Chantry. The priest hesitated for a moment, not wanting to intrude if Hawke was looking to mourn alone, but the man caught his eye and inclined his head, inviting him over.

He stopped next to Hawke, appreciating how the man looked in his black suit, swallowing as his gaze fixed on the knot of Hawke’s tie at his throat. “Blessed Funalis to you,” Anders said, quietly.

“And to you, Father,” Hawke replied, and gestured for Anders to sit. The priest sat a polite distance away, but he could still feel the man’s frustration like an aura, and he resisted the urge to move closer, to put an arm around his shoulders and hold him close in comfort.

“If you wish to talk, I’ll listen,” he offered instead.

No flirtatious comment followed, and Hawke ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “I knew today would be difficult, but I guess I underestimated it. And it’s better that I’m not with the two of them… my mother’s got Bethany, so she’s all right. Me being around won’t help anything.”

Anders was silent, watching the light of the candles playing on Hawke’s face, his desires pushed aside for the sake of Hawke’s grief. He was grateful that the mourners were starting to taper off; more would arrive in the evening with the celebratory pyre, but in the meantime, it meant that Anders was able to keep his focus on Hawke without seeming to neglect any of the other parishioners.

The other man cleared his throat after a few moments, staring determinedly at the back of the pew in front of them. “My father died three years ago. That… was a hard Funalis. I didn’t expect to have another so soon,” he began.

“One of those sudden things you don’t expect; one minute he’s got chest pain, and the next he’s gone. We all took it hard, obviously, but it wasn’t just _him_ that we missed: he was the one supporting the family. I was already working and going to university, and I took another job to keep us afloat. Bethany and Carver were too young to do much, and my mother did some part time work. We got by, but it was tough.”

Hawke sighed quietly before continuing. “Carver and I, well… he was my younger brother. He was a brat, and indignant about having to give up a lot of the things he was used to so we could support ourselves, but - he was a teenager. I was angry for a lot of reasons, back then: having to give up my social life to work, Carver being snotty about eating spaghetti twice a week, trying to keep up with my grades. We’d fight a lot the rare times I was home and conscious. It didn’t help with household morale, so I was glad that I wasn’t around much to have to deal with him.

“A few months ago, mother received a letter from her family’s lawyer about my trash uncle dying, and it turns out that suddenly we’re rich,” he said, with a flourishing gesture. “The Amells forgave her for running off to Ferelden with a blue-collar worker, and she never knew. Gamlen had spent all of his share, and tried for a decade to get at hers without success, and so we had this whole new life awaiting us in Kirkwall. I’d graduated already, and the twins hadn’t gone to school yet; it was perfect timing, and the tension in the house just vanished. My mother was smiling again. It was supposed to be wonderful.”

Hawke paused, and took a shaky breath before he composed himself to continue.

“The twins and I went out to a bar near the house to celebrate, about a week before we were going to leave. Saying goodbye to friends and all that. Carver was being a shit about having to leave the girl he was seeing and just generally bringing down the fun. I told him to fuck off, I called him a selfish asshole, and he said I was a stuck-up whore, and we almost got into it right there in the bar, but Bethany intervened and Carver left. She was going to walk back with him, but I persuaded her not to. I told her to leave him to sulk all the way home.” Anders watched his jaw clench, the hands in his lap balling into fists, and wanted desperately to reach out and touch him somehow.

“He... never made it home. Some drunk fucker ran a light and hit him as he was crossing the street. If Bethany hadn’t stayed, she could’ve been hit, too, or... maybe she could’ve called for help sooner and saved him.” He shook his head sharply, cutting that thought off. “Doesn’t matter. Someone found him, but it was too late. He died in the back of an ambulance.” Hawke’s voice was wooden, as if he’d recited this before.

“They caught the guy. There was a red-light camera that saw it all. He pled guilty. I wanted to fucking destroy him. I _still_ do, but I’m really the one who killed Carver. _I_ made him leave. I’ll never forget what my mother said when we were at the hospital. She didn’t believe it at first, and then she just snapped. Said it was all my fault, that I should have protected him, that I failed her...”

Hawke waved a hand dismissively, swallowing with his head turned away, and Anders frowned, glaring at the silver-haired woman who knelt before the altar.

“It’s _not_ your fault, Hawke. It wasn’t fair of her to say such things.”

“Maybe it was, though. I mean, I blamed the Maker for it, too. But He wasn’t the one who forced Carver off, or the one driving that car. He’s not even paying attention to all of us, right?” Anders could hear the bitterness in his voice. “That’s why I’m still angry at it, at _everything_ , but especially at myself. I was supposed to look out for him, and I didn’t.”

As a priest, Anders should have had some words of consolation ready, some passage of the Chant that he could recite to ease Hawke’s spirit. The man didn’t deserve something hollow and trite, though, so instead all he said was, “I’m sorry. I should give you something more than that, I know, but anything I’d normally say doesn’t seem quite adequate.”

Hawke glanced over and met his gaze, his lips quirked in a half-smile. “It’s enough. Thank you,” he said, then leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “We can discuss what more you can give me later.”

Anders scoffed and pursed his lips to hide his amusement. “You’re impossible,” he replied.

“It’s true, but you love it.” Hawke turned back to the chapel to see his mother and sister embracing, Bethany’s eyes on where the two of them sat too closely.

Anders didn’t respond, just patted Hawke on the shoulder as if consoling him, and rose from the pew to see to other parishioners.

Hawke’s family didn’t stay for the pyre; Anders assumed that they would have their own private gathering in Hightown, as many of the upper class tended to do. He found that he was relieved that Hawke hadn’t been born into wealth, that he knew what it meant to struggle and work for a living. Anders’ own upbringing had a dismal lack of family support; he respected Hawke for taking care of his family when he’d needed to. The man continued to surprise him.

Grand Cleric Elthina arrived and was immediately set upon by Sebastian, who always hovered around Her Reverence when she was in Kirkwall, either in an effort to curry favor or just to heighten his own perceived importance. It meant that Anders had no chance to speak to her until near the end of the evening, as the last of the embers were burning from Andraste’s pyre. She favoured Anders with a polite smile, and the priest dimly wondered if she even remembered him from their first meeting, when he’d first arrived at the Chantry.

He bowed slightly to her in greeting, and explained the condition of the clinic; that the number of poor in Darktown was higher than they’d anticipated, and the monthly funding for supplies wasn’t enough to cover food for all of the destitute patrons, much less any other material goods they may have needed. He was about to mention that the building was in need of some repairs as well, when she interrupted him with a raised hand.

“Your work is very important, my son, and I’m certain that the citizens of this city are grateful for all that you’ve done for them,” she said, as if she were his mother congratulating him on a report card. “The Maker would surely appreciate your charity to your fellow man.”

“Thank you, Your Reverence. I am glad to serve however I can, of course. I only wished to ask if there could be a bit more added to the budget. With the donations from Funalis indulgences, perhaps you would be able to allow more for my humble clinic.” And how he hated those indulgences, the idea that something so base as _money_ could be used to shorten the suffering of others in the Fade, but he would never say such things aloud. Especially if it meant that the money could be used for those who still suffered in this world.

Elthina nodded sagely, and took his hands in hers, the rings of her station glinting in the low light of the pyre. “I promise I will review everything when the time comes, and I will keep your words in mind. Andraste bless you, Father.” She clutched his hands and smiled, and he took it as the parting it was, kissing her hand in supplication and walking back into the Chantry proper.

It wasn’t a flat dismissal, he thought to himself, but he still wouldn’t hold his breath. At least he would still be able to use part of his own salary to provide for others, and if it came down to it, maybe he could repair some of the more desperate faults in the building himself. Either way, it was out of his hands, and he refused to spend what spare time he had worrying about it.

* * *

Anders entered the Hanged Man later than usual the next day, having spent some time debating on whether he wanted to experience that sort of frustration so soon after the holiday. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to see Hawke, though, and if he spent a few extra minutes picking a shirt to wear, that was between him and the Maker.

The bar counter was more crowded than usual, and he stood at the end, waiting for Hawke to notice him. The man’s smirk was no less disarming than it had been the first time Anders had seen it.

“Almost thought you weren’t coming,” Hawke said, leaning towards him casually. “Go sit down, I’ll bring you a drink. It was cider, yeah?”

Anders nodded, and the bartender drifted away, dancing around another man with white hair that tended to the other side of the counter.

It didn’t take Hawke long to find him, and he slid into the booth opposite Anders. “Here,” he said, and slid a folded piece of paper across the table alongside the drink.

“What’s this?” Anders asked, taking a sip and restraining himself from deliberately brushing against Hawke’s hand.

“Finally got some things in order, and I’ve got my own place. I figured you could come give me some private confessions,” the man said, grinning, and he chuckled as Anders’ hand jerked back from reaching for the paper.

The priest set his glass back down quickly. “Are you mad?” he hissed. “I can’t take this.”

“Why not?” Hawke replied. “Priests make house calls if someone’s too ill to come in person, don’t they?”

Anders rubbed his forehead in frustration. “Yes, priests make house calls,” he said carefully, “but not for… this.”

“Think about it.” That damnable smirk was still there, as if he _knew_ Anders would accept eventually. “Come home with me some time. We don’t want the public to hear my confessions, do we?” With that, Hawke stood, heading back to work at the bar, and Anders’ fingers clenched on his drink, thinking of exactly what they didn’t want other people to hear.

After a moment, the priest swore under his breath, and snatched up the little piece of paper, stuffing it in a pocket. It wouldn’t hurt anything to have Hawke’s address, he told himself. Just in case there was an emergency, or he didn’t show up to Mass again. It’s not like he would… take the man up on his offer. A private confession. His heart pounded, and he rose from the booth, unable to finish his drink.

Hawke must have seen him readying to leave, because he yelled something to his coworker and ducked out from behind the bar again. Anders pretended he didn’t see the man shadowing him out as he retrieved his coat.

“It’s fading, Anders,” Hawke murmured when they were outside in the cool night air, so only the priest could hear him. “The mark you left me.” Reaching up, he touched two fingers to the yellowed bruise at the base of his throat, and Anders’ eyes focused on how his eyes lidded and his chin tilted back.

“Is that a complaint?” Anders asked archly. “Are you asking me for something, Hawke?” He took a step closer, and Hawke stepped back obligingly; again, until they rounded the corner of the building, barely out of immediate sight of the street. He could smell Hawke’s cologne as he grew closer, his look predatory as the scent heated his blood. He couldn’t have let himself go like this where anyone could see, but out here, where someone would have to make an effort to find them…

Hawke’s breath blew harshly out of his nose as he was backed against the wall. “Please,” he breathed, hands curling into fists at his sides, “just mark me up again.”

As Anders hesitated, glancing around to make sure they were alone, Hawke actually whined. "Come on, mark me up. I need something to show the random people I fuck that I'm yours."

 _Yours_. A sharp jolt of arousal coursed through him at Hawke’s words, so strong it overpowered any jealousy. His mouth went dry and his hand trembled as he gripped the man by the jaw. "Tell me you haven't fucked someone in the three days since I got you off,” he snarled, pinning Hawke to the wall with his body.

"I... I haven't, I swear," Hawke panted, his hands clenched against the brick behind him, arching up in a desperate bid for contact.

“Good,” Anders purred, and leaned in so that his mouth was against Hawke’s ear. “Because you’re right; you’re _mine_.” He had no reason to feel this way, to be so possessive, and certainly no actual claim over the man, but it felt _right_ nonetheless.

As his lips trailed down to the base of Hawke’s throat, tracing the fading bruise, he felt the man shudder underneath him, and his teeth sank in with a surge of lust. Hawke cried out, too loud, and Anders shushed him wordlessly, eyes falling closed as he tongued the sensitive skin.

"Come home with me," Hawke pleaded again, one hand coming up to tangle gentle fingers in Anders' hair, and Anders groaned against his neck, teeth worrying at the flesh to encourage a deep bruise. " _Please_."

Anders pressed closer, Hawke’s offer and the touch against his hair making him dizzy with need. “No,” he murmured, and _felt_ Hawke’s whimper in his throat. “You’re too greedy… but you’ve been so good, maybe I’ll give you a reward.”

“Yes, Maker, please,” the man begged, and when Anders’ leg slid between his, his thigh pressing against the hardness in Hawke’s jeans, he let out a keening noise that Anders immediately muffled with his hand, the other bracing himself against the wall. He barely resisted the urge to grind back as Hawke rutted against his thigh, holding his own hips still. In an attempt to hold back Hawke’s desperate noises, Anders’ fingers slipped into his mouth, and he cursed quietly when the man began sucking on them, pressing his leg in harder.

“Good, you’re such a good boy for me,” Anders murmured against the skin of Hawke’s neck, kissing and biting all that he could reach as the man writhed. “Are you close already? Maker, you’re sensitive, already panting for it. Are you going to come in your jeans for me, in this filthy alleyway where anyone could see, pressed up against the wall by your priest?” He knew he’d hit a good point when Hawke jerked, and moaned around his fingers, his whole body trembling with need.

“I want you to walk back in there soaked in it, I want you to feel it every time you move. So you remember I was the one that made you come all over yourself again.” He punctuated the word with a hard suck against the pulsepoint of Hawke’s neck, and teeth sank into his knuckles as Hawke shuddered, his hips jerking along Anders’ thigh uncontrollably. The muffled cry against Anders’ ear and the hand tightening in his hair made him groan and thrust forward, only once, enough to feel the heat of Hawke’s body against his clothed cock.

As Hawke slumped boneless against the wall, he pulled away, fingers trailing from the man’s slick lips and down his throat, leaving wetness behind that made Hawke shiver in the cool air. “That should last you until your next penance,” he purred.

“You think so?” Hawke laughed weakly, finally letting go of Anders’ hair to run a hand through his own, doing nothing to smooth it. “I think you underestimate how often I’m used to getting off.”

“Then you’ll be aching for it, won’t you?” Anders smirked, taking another step backward and adjusting his clothing. Hawke huffed, a sound between amusement and desire, and Anders took in his disheveled appearance, his fresh bruises, ignoring his own aching erection. “I don’t know how long your break is, but you should probably get back to work.”

Hawke took a deep breath to calm himself, his eyes trailing down Anders’ body to the obvious bulge in his jeans. “I could spare a few more minutes, if you like.” He made a move to close the distance between them, but Anders pushed him back against the wall, his eyes losing all traces of mirth.

“No,” he replied, quietly. Hawke cocked an eyebrow, licking his lips and parting them to speak, but Anders’ glare silenced him. They stared at each other for a few moments, Anders longing to pull the other man forward and kiss him, touch him, take his own pleasure from his throat...

...but instead he released Hawke’s shirt and left him there, standing in the alley, making his way hurriedly back to his car to flee to the safety of home, Hawke’s address burning a hole in the depths of his pocket.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated again.

_So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your Maker.  
I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.  
Transfigurations 41:10 _

 

**Tuesday**

 

> 11:02am Anders: _Mr. Hawke, I see you wrote down your phone number too. Here's mine, in case you need it. Hopefully you get free texts._
> 
> 11:05am Hawke: _Yup! So when you gonna use my address too?_
> 
> 11:10am Anders: _Only in an emergency._
> 
> 11:12am Hawke: _There’s an emergency in my pants ;)_
> 
> 11:25am Anders: _I hope to see you at confession tonight._
> 
> 11:29am Hawke: _You should come to my house for a private confession ;)_
> 
> 11:32am Anders: _No, Mr. Hawke._

**Wednesday**

 

> 6:11am Anders: _You didn't show up to confession yesterday. Are you feeling all right?_
> 
> 12:03pm Hawke: _Yeah sorry I was feverish and couldn’t come confess_
> 
> 12:20pm Anders: _I’m sorry to hear that._
> 
> 12:24pm Hawke: _I spent all night in bed naked trying to cool down and rest, but everytime I closed my eyes I thought of my legs wrapped around you and getting bent in half while you fucked me_
> 
> 12:25pm Anders: _That's extremely inappropriate!_
> 
> 12:33pm Hawke: _Are you saying you DON'T want to pound me into my bed while I scream for you? Lying is a sin ;)_
> 
> 12:47pm Anders: _What I may or may not want isn't at issue here._
> 
> 12:50pm Hawke: _So you don't want me?_
> 
> 12:53pm Anders: _I didn't say that._
> 
> 1:02pm Hawke: _You're very specifically not saying that. What do you need me to do? Beg? Promise not to touch you? Anything. Just say you'll come over_
> 
> 1:16pm Hawke: _I need to confess father think of my immortal soul :D_
> 
> 1:17pm Anders: _You're impossible!_
> 
> 1:19pm Hawke: _You told me not to fuck anyone else and now you're denying me completely?_
> 
> 1:30pm Hawke: _Shit I'm sorry that was too far wasn't it?_
> 
> 1:31pm Anders: _Are you home now?_
> 
> 1:32pm Hawke: _Yeah_
> 
> 1:33pm Anders: _Stay._

* * *

Hawke paced the confines of his modest home, a few boxes still in the corners of each room. He'd purposefully not wasted his money on anything extravagant, purchasing a two-bedroom townhouse in a decent area of town, but he worried over what Anders might think of it. What was the priest used to living in? To seeing? He couldn't imagine, but to avoid the terrifying and exciting thought of Anders _coming to his house_ , he fretted, straightening what he could without starting any new housekeeping projects.

Nothing untoward had been promised. In fact, he'd practically sworn to behave before Anders had agreed, but he'd never been very good at that. Whatever this was, it was purportedly just a confession, but _oh,_ with how their confessions had gone in the past, he didn’t know what to expect. Hawke tried not to hope for anything specific.

Anders, parked outside, hesitated in his car for a few minutes. The modern townhouse that matched Hawke's address was at the end of the row, and looked well-kept, but not lavish. Another point in the man's favour, he supposed, and he closed his eyes with a sigh, trying to clear his mind. He didn't know what he was doing here. He knew full well that what Hawke was looking for with this visit had nothing to do with a "confession." Or maybe it did, and that was what the man was looking forward to: the thought of receiving penance at Anders’ hands for his sins. And that brought on memories of Hawke whimpering against the wall with Anders pinned to his back, grinding against his perfect ass while the man stroked himself...

The priest's hands clenched around the steering wheel and he cursed lowly. He could urge restraint all he wished, but it didn't change the fact that he _wanted_ Hawke, and though it was still so wrong to use the act of penance in such a depraved way, at least he wasn't technically breaking his vows.

 _Yet,_ said a rebellious voice inside his head, and he huffed and flung the car door open.

The path to Hawke's door seemed far too short, as Anders tried to think of some sort of greeting. Here he was, actually showing up at Hawke's house when he'd specifically said he wouldn't, and he just knew Hawke would give him some smug look that he’d want to wipe off the man's face. He rapped at the door, clenching his other hand nervously.

Hawke jumped at the loud knock. He'd been expecting it, but it was still startling, and he laughed at himself for being nervous, as if he'd never invited someone over like this before. Well, he hadn't, not quite - there was the professor in college - but nothing exactly like teasing and cajoling the local priest until he came to his house just to shut him up...

He took in a steadying breath, trying to stop his thoughts from rambling, and opened the door, cocky grin planted firmly in place.

The sight of Anders' nervous expression actually calmed Hawke a bit. At least he wasn't the only one worrying. He took a moment to appreciate the man's outfit, and sucked in a breath when he noticed the black shirt and white collar of a priest's station. Well. This _was_ ostensibly a confession.

Hawke shook himself out of his staring and stepped back, door held open. "Come in, Father."

Despite the confident grin, Hawke’s hair was wild as if he'd been nervously running his hands through it. Anders acknowledged the invitation with a nod, stepping in and glancing around the room instead of focusing on how good Hawke looked disheveled.

"This is far less of a bachelor pad than I expected from you," he said. None of the furnishings were expensive, but they were new, and it looked like Hawke hadn't bothered unpacking everything yet.

Shrugging, Hawke ran a critical eye over the room for the hundredth time that day as he shut the door. "I do like to be comfortable. This is comfortable. And fairly soundproof, too. I tested." He went to move past Anders and direct him to a seat, then paused, remembering courtesy. "Can I... take your coat?"

Anders blinked and looked at Hawke with raised eyebrows, caught distractedly on the word ‘soundproof.’ "You tested?" he asked with amusement, handing his coat over. "Should I ask what that entailed?"

The coat was hung neatly in the hall closet, as Hawke explained, "I had the rental agent yell while I went outside. Couldn't hear it. They were confused - it was hilarious - but anything for a sale, right? Anyway, it's... kind of important." He flushed, moving on. "And I haven't heard a peep from the places to either side, so the internal walls must be pretty good, too."

Despite himself, Anders smirked. Hawke was normally so confident and charming at the Chantry; it was a welcome reversal to see Hawke be the one embarrassed. "Are you planning on making enough noise to bother your neighbours?"

Hawke snorted. "Well, I usually can't help how loud I get. Are you just going to stand there?" He gestured around the living room, where a plush-looking couch and matching chairs sat around a simple coffee table. "Pick a seat. Would you like something to drink? I'm not sure how these... in-home confessions are supposed to go." Not that anything went as it was supposed to, with the two of them.

"I'll have a glass of water, thank you." Anders took one of the chairs, crossing a leg over his knee and brushing a stray hair from his black trousers. "I've only taken confession like this once before, so it's not a common occurrence." He tapped his fingers idly against the arm of the chair, watching Hawke as he moved.

Hawke nodded, busying himself with a glass and the sink in the kitchen. He returned quickly, ice clinking as he handed the water over, and then settled himself on the couch. "So, do I... not look at you? Pretend it's the same?" Now that he was seated, his nervous energy had nowhere to go, and his hands were everywhere - tugging at his sleeves, running through his hair again - and he laughed self-deprecatingly. "I guess I'm out of my element here."

Anders sipped from the glass before setting it on the end table beside him, then folded his hands in his lap. "Whatever makes you the most comfortable. The previous parishioner I visited sat in her bathroom while I stood outside the door. If sitting face to face isn't comfortable, you could sit behind or next to my chair..." He inclined his head, waiting for Hawke to make eye contact, and then smiled innocently. "Or perhaps you'd prefer a blindfold."

If Hawke had been holding a drink, he'd have dropped it on the floor. As it was, his mouth fell open, and he had to force himself to swallow around a suddenly dry throat. "W-well," he stuttered, attempting to recover, "I do own one." Lowering his lashes, Hawke murmured, "If that's how you want to do this, I could deliver my confession kneeling at your feet."

Anders pretended to consider the suggestion while being grateful that Hawke had averted his eyes, lest the man see how the words made Anders' face flush, his blood burning at the thought of Hawke posed in supplication before him. His nails dug into his thigh, and he willed himself to calm. "Yes, I'd like that," he replied, his voice a shade darker than normal.

Hawke stood, and then hesitated, unsure, watching Anders' reaction as he asked, "Shall I get the blindfold?" For all he'd been pushing, he didn't actually want to make Anders uncomfortable, especially not since the man had graciously allowed himself to be harassed into this.

"Are you getting shy with no confessional wall to hide behind, Hawke? It doesn't suit you." Anders' smile was subtle, but far less innocent than before. "Go fetch it, then come back."

Being given a direction calmed the restless nervousness churning in Hawke's gut, and he flashed a smile before darting off to his bedroom, thanking whatever forethought had led him to unpack his chest of toys, even with the general disorder throughout the rest of the house. It was the work of a moment to find the soft blindfold, leather on one side and velvet on the other, and when he returned to the living room with it clutched in his hand, he was breathing hard with anticipation.

The sight of Anders waiting so expectantly for him to obey had Hawke biting his lip, and he sank to his knees in front of the priest's chair, holding out the blindfold wordlessly.

Maker's breath, but Hawke looked good on his knees, Anders thought. He uncrossed his leg and took the blindfold from Hawke's hand, reaching forward to drape it across his features, soft velvet against his eyes. The other man didn't move at all as Anders’ fingers brushed over his cheek, and when the priest leaned back in the chair and re-settled himself, Hawke let out a slow breath.

Anders waited, committing the sight of Hawke silent and obedient to memory. He folded his hands back in his lap. "Confess your sins to me."

The world outside the blindfold was dark, and Hawke strained to hear and translate every movement Anders made as he shifted in the chair. He smoothed his hands over his jeans, trying to hide their trembling, and offered a shaky smile in the priest's direction. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is a week and a half since my last confession," Hawke began, the familiar ritual soothing him, and he relaxed slightly, tilting his head back. He'd been too busy flirting and fretting to actually prepare for the rite of confession, and didn't have much in mind, so he groped for the words.

"I accuse myself of the following sins. We'll start with the easy ones again, yeah? Sloth: my house still isn't put in order. Envy, because Bethy still gets to stay at home and be taken care of, even though I do want my own place, so there’s no reason to be jealous of her... Wrath. Definitely wrath. Ah, I should have done so much better for Carver." The wound had been reopened with Funalis, and despite the situation Hawke's chest clenched in regret and anger, shaking his head before he moved on.

"For you, though, Father... greed, pride, lust. I'm greedy for you. I want all of you, everything you'll give me. The lust is obvious - I rubbed off on your thigh, and," he laughed, "how ridiculous is that? I'm not a teenager any more. But I want _more_ , Father. I can't stop thinking about you, what you could do to me. I’d let you - anything - I’m already on my knees.” Hawke shifted nervously, licking his lips. “And as for pride... well. I never doubted you'd come." Hawke's voice had been quiet throughout, but he ended on a whisper, the dark closing in around him, as he almost forgot he was talking to his priest, not just speaking his thoughts aloud.

Anders listened silently, sympathizing with Hawke's sorrow and then tensing as Hawke's sinful voice went further. _Everything you'll give me,_ he'd said, and the priest's breath stopped, his hands gripping his thighs to restrain himself. Hawke was literally offering himself to him, and he mentally cursed his restraining vows, not for the first time, lust overpowering any sense of guilt he had over those thoughts. He was a man of the cloth, but he was still a man... a man who wanted to see Hawke beg and writhe and scream his name.

"I haven't given you any reason to doubt, have I?" Anders finally said. "You make it impossible to resist. You're a prideful, arrogant man, so sure of yourself and what you want that you'd throw yourself at my feet." He shifted forward, his thumb stroking along Hawke's bearded jaw, and he felt the man gasp at the touch. "I wonder what you'll look like with all of that stripped away."

Hawke didn't say a word, but he shivered as Anders leaned further, letting his breath heat Hawke's cheek. "Your penance, my son, will be for your wrath, and your pride." His thumb moved along Hawke's neck to his pulse, just feeling the rapid patter. "I'm going to spank the insolence and the anger out of you. Do you accept?"

" _Shit_." Hawke near curled in on himself, only the hand on his jaw holding him upright, the surge of lust almost painful. "Yes. _Please_ ," he groaned, tilting his head back to allow Anders any access, anything he might want. "How do you want me?"

Anders ran his fingers down Hawke's throat, along the faint bruises he'd left before, now almost a week old. "Bent over a desk, I think. You have one here, don't you?"

"Yes." Hawke gestured towards the back of the house, and struggled to his feet with Anders' help, made clumsy by the blindfold as well as knees weak with lust. "It's - in the second bedroom. First door on the right. Oh, fuck, Anders." Clutching at the priest's wrist, Hawke hoped the naked desire didn't show quite as well on his face as he feared.

He’d known Hawke was sensitive, but if the thought alone was reducing him to this state, Anders couldn't wait to see how much he'd fall apart. He slipped behind Hawke, positioned him facing the right direction, then slid his fingers up to grip the nape of Hawke's neck. "Walk," he ordered, pressing lightly, guiding him down the hall to the open door of his office.

More boxes sat in the corner, along with an empty bookcase, but the desk was mostly bare save for a laptop and some papers. Anders led Hawke to stand in the center of the room, then released his neck and moved around to clear the surface. Hawke waited silently, trembling a little until Anders was behind him again, then stiffened as lips and breath gently traced along his neck.

"I want you to bare your ass and lay yourself across the desk. Grip the edge of the wood. If you let go, your penance stops."

Hawke shivered, but nodded, and Anders guided him forward until he could feel the desk under his fingertips. Lack of sight made every other sense strain to feed him more information: the subtle scent of sandalwood Anders left behind, the smooth grain of the surface beneath him, the clink of his own belt buckle as he undid it with eagerly shaking fingers.

"How many have my sins earned me, do you think?" Hawke asked, to distract himself and fill the silence. This would be the most bare skin they’d seen of each other yet, and Hawke flushed a bit as he slid his jeans down the firm curve of his ass. Still, he knew it was an ass worth looking at, and he arched his back as he bent over the desk, gripping the opposite edge as instructed and spreading his legs in blatant display.

"As many as it takes," Anders said, distracted, biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a noise as he watched raptly. _You have vows_ , he reminded himself sternly, his cock straining at the sight, but how he wanted to slide his fingers across Hawke's skin, tease at the hair on his thighs, slip his fingers down that inviting cleft and...

His teeth drew blood, and the copper taste jerked him out of his fantasy. Anders closed his eyes and exhaled harshly, urging himself to calm, and then he took a step forward and slapped his palm against Hawke's right cheek.

Hawke jumped, the impact more surprising than anything after the long seconds of waiting, and then he _laughed_. He was no stranger to being spanked, and was a bit relieved Anders knew to start slow, but couldn't help taunting him, "If that's all you've got, this is going to be easy."

"You're too used to 'easy,' I think, Mr, Hawke," Anders replied, unafraid to hold back now that Hawke had basically given him permission. "I have much more in store for you."

He swung hard, smirking at the crack of his palm meeting skin, and he followed with three more strikes on the other side of Hawke's ass in quick succession, not leaving room for any bratty commentary. "I plan on testing just how soundproof your new home is."

Hawke's head hit the desk between his arms, leather cushioning the impact slightly, and he groaned, knuckles white. Now _that_ was more like it, an echo of pain ricocheting through his bones and into his rapidly hardening cock, pressed between the desk and his stomach. Still, he couldn't resist another taunting jab, no matter how untrue it was. "You think you can make me howl with just that?"

Anders stepped closer, fingers threading through Hawke's dark hair and twisting as he brought his hand down hard again, a little higher to make sure it stung across new skin. "Is this better?" he hissed, and rained blows across Hawke's ass, each slap overlaid with the constant pressure at Hawke's scalp.

A loud cry tore from Hawke's throat, and then a constant stream of incoherent sounds as Anders continued mercilessly, driving thought from his head until he had only reactions, unable to answer the question. As he arched up to meet each impact, the priest could clearly see the red flush that spread across his cheeks to match the uneven splotches forming on his ass under the abuse.

Anders licked his lips, breath fast with desire and exertion as he gave Hawke a final smack, watching the way the reddened skin bounced with it. It was becoming very difficult to tell himself he was still following his vow of celibacy, especially when Hawke kept making those noises.

"You've stopped with your prideful insolence, but I don't think we're done yet, are we?" he growled. "There's still your wrath to see to." He stopped himself from pressing his cock against Hawke's hip, wanting to savour this, and his eyes lingered on how the man’s jeans had slipped further down his legs as he writhed. "And I haven't made you howl yet."

He reached back, then whipped his hand forward to strike across the back of Hawke's thigh, so hard that his own palm stung.

The brief pause only gave Hawke enough time to catch his breath, hips falling against the desk, and he gasped as his dripping cock slid between his stomach and the smooth wood. Words were beyond him, even before Anders started up again, and he screamed shortly at the impact on his sensitive thigh, bucking and writhing but hanging on tight. Something in the back of his mind reminded him that _letting go meant stop_ and he never wanted this to stop, ever, Anders' hand hard against his sore flesh driving him higher and higher into euphoria.

The priest jerked forward at Hawke’s cry, grinding against warm skin, and a groan stuttered from his lips. "You're so lovely like this, obedient and aching. I could do this all night, but I don't think you could take it." He spanked Hawke's thighs until they were as red and angry as his ass, and slapped hard across his previous work, each strike evoking more noise from the man contorted beneath him. "Beg for it."

It took a second for Hawke to register what Anders was asking for, and when he opened his mouth to form words, a choking sob came out first, a tear trickling out from under the blindfold. "Please don't stop!" he implored, and screamed again when Anders' hand landed on his bruised ass, fingers digging in hard before the priest lifted it off to prepare another blow. "Please, please, Father, I - " He squirmed against the desk uncontrollably, and he tried to bury his face in his arms at the rush of pleasure, but Anders' fingers in his hair held him in place, and he whined in protest and overwhelming need.

Hawke's broken begging threatened Anders' resolve, resonating through his very core and down to his throbbing cock. Sweat dripped from his brow and down his collar; he hadn't even bothered to roll up his sleeves beforehand, he was so eager to dole out Hawke's punishment, and he looked longingly at the beautifully abused, scarlet flesh before him. He wanted to know what the hot clench of Hawke's ass would feel like around his fingers, his cock, his _tongue_ , but instead he spanked Hawke over and over, trying to burn the images out of his mind, until the man was a sobbing mess and his hand stung with it.

"So good," he murmured, slapping once more, lighter, his fingers clenching against firm muscle, scorching hot under his hands. "Do you think your penance is complete? Or do you need more punishment?" he asked coyly. Slender fingers brushed against Hawke's ass, so lightly that the man shivered at the sensation, and Anders raked his short nails across his damaged skin.

Already sobbing, right on the very edge, the sweetly sharp drag of Anders' nails shattered him with overstimulation, and Hawke howled as promised. Anders had a perfect view of his face - heavily flushed, mouth wide, tear tracks trailing out from under the blindfold - when he came apart, hips convulsing against the desk as he spurted harsh and sudden across its polished surface. If nothing else, Anders thought distantly, this would prove how soundproof the house was by whether the neighbours complained.

The hand on Hawke's ass trembled, Anders frozen with shock, staring as Hawke bucked helplessly against the desk, his scream echoing in Anders' ears. He hadn't imagined the man could come just from being spanked like this, and the realization that it had been only Anders' discipline and whatever friction Hawke could get that made him fall apart into a sobbing, writhing mess...

Anders acted without thinking, desire coursing through him so hard and fast that his entire body quivered with it. He pressed against Hawke's panting form, ground against his bruised ass, and brought a hand under Hawke's throat to pull him back, fingers still wrapped in his hair, until he could feel Hawke's ragged, whimpering breaths against his mouth. There was no hesitation when he crushed their lips together, a low growl in his throat as their tongues slid and Hawke’s beard scratched his jaw, the taste of the man’s mouth sweet and perfect.

The need to bring his hands up and tangle them in Anders' hair had Hawke trembling, but he still clutched the edge of the desk reflexively, _letting go means stop_ and please, Maker, he wasn't ready to let go, especially not now that the priest was _kissing him_ , hard and desperate and everything he could have hoped for. His ass throbbed with heat and pain, every press and flex of Anders’ hips coaxing a whimpering cry. He thrust back, hoping to give Anders some of the same pleasure that was still vibrating through his bones.

It was so good, but it wasn't enough, not even with Hawke grinding back against him and Hawke's lips against his, and Anders pulled away with a groan. He drank in the sight of the man's flushed face, the tears that had leaked from underneath the blindfold, his wet mouth, and he released Hawke and let him fall back against the desk. One hand pressed down to feel the warmth of Hawke's back through his damp shirt while he undid his trousers, freeing his aching cock and stroking himself with a sharp intake of breath, so careful to keep his hips back lest he forget himself.

It didn't take long, with Hawke lying wrecked and panting beneath him, Hawke's warmth against his palm, the smell of his cologne and sweat, and he spilled across Hawke's reddened skin with a sharp cry. The sight of his cum trailing down Hawke's ass was enough to make him dizzy, and Anders pushed away from the desk, backing up against the wall and bracing himself while he regained his breath.

Hawke was certain, so certain he knew what Anders had just done, the sound and scent and Maker, the _feel_ of it across his bare ass, strangely soothing against the blistering pain - but still, when Anders pushed away and left him, he whimpered, an irrational thought flickering through his head of _but I didn't let go_. With a ragged gasp, Hawke freed his cramped fingers from the edge of the desk, flexing them before he reached up to pull the blindfold off.

When he looked around the room, seeking Anders' form, he was drawn immediately to the sight of the priest's softening cock, and Hawke groaned, wanting nothing more than to sink to his knees and suck the last droplets out. Instead he offered Anders a shaky smile, more vulnerable than he'd like after being stripped down like that, and asked, voice hoarse, "Good for you, then?"

Anders gave a nervous laugh and tensed, and in the aftermath of what they'd done, with the taste of Hawke’s mouth still lingering on his lips, he waited for the guilt to sink in. It didn't stop him from meeting Hawke's eyes, taking in how unguarded he looked - and he winced internally, chastising himself for pulling away like that and leaving Hawke thinking it was his fault. "That... yes, Maker," he said, not even noticing his blasphemy. "You were perfect. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." He gestured futilely in Hawke’s direction, then tucked himself back inside his trousers and straightened his shirt.

"Shouldn't have what?" Hawke forced a careless smile as he moved to stand up, and winced as his bruised flesh tugged and protested. He settled for wiping his eyes with the soft velvet of the blindfold, trying to clean himself up a bit, and wondered whether it would be less embarrassing to pull his rough jeans up over the mess, or just strip them off entirely. "If you're regretting this..."

"It's a bit late for regrets," Anders said, quietly. He found that he didn't regret it, any of it, and the thought was frightening. He was supposed to be better than this; chastity was one of the only things he'd had to pledge to the Chantry, and he was deliberately fighting against that line, for purely selfish reasons. His gaze caught on the bruises that were already turning purple against Hawke's skin, the wetness that he could see glistening across the marks.

His instinct was to run, like he had before, every time Hawke had pushed him farther and farther down this path. But he couldn't pin it all on Hawke when he himself had so willingly given in. Anders watched the man straighten his shirt and refasten his trousers, uncertain of what he should say.

"I don't regret it. However terrible that is of me, I just..." he began, and found he couldn't complete his thought. It was still so hard to even _think_ in Hawke's presence.

Hawke paused, hand on his belt buckle, watching Anders' face. He took a step, hissed in a breath at the slide of fabric over his wet, aching backside, and laid a hand on Anders' arm. "Father - " he started, and then shook his head. " _Anders_."

But he didn't know what to follow that with, words tumbling through his head, discarding each, until all he said was, "Stay."

Hawke's gaze was dreadfully earnest, the hand on Anders’ arm grounding him to the moment, and every possible reason why this would be a bad decision ran through the priest’s mind.

Anders nodded.


	11. Chapter 11

_I have chosen the way of truth; I have set my heart on your laws._  
_Trials 119:30_

 

Hawke excused himself to take a quick shower, and Anders headed back into the living room, seating himself in the chair he’d heard Hawke’s confession from just a short while before. His water still sat on the end table, the ice mostly melted, and he drank half of it before setting it back down with a harsh clink. After a few moments, he stood again, pacing the length of the room with his hands clenched, fighting the compulsion to flee. He didn’t know what he was doing here, he shouldn’t have come in the first place, and now he was lost. Yet he’d promised Hawke that he would stay, which was a terrifying prospect in itself; he just needed to calm his restlessness and focus on something while Hawke was occupied.

His gaze darted around the room to the few personal items that Hawke had unpacked, one of which was a framed picture of Hawke’s family, set up on the mantle. Anders’ curiosity overtook his panic, and he stepped closer to get a better look. It must have been taken years ago, but Hawke was recognizable, as were his sister and mother. He imagined that the boy next to Bethany was their brother, Carver, who looked like a younger version of Hawke without a beard. The man next to Leandra must be their father, and there the resemblance between him and Hawke was striking. He smiled slightly at Hawke’s energetic expression, at seeing what the family had looked like before tragedy had befallen them.

Anders sighed and circled the room once more before settling on the couch, his mind torn between self-loathing and guilt for his actions, and vivid memories of Hawke’s shattered scream as he came across the desk. _Maker forgive me,_ he thought, _but I don’t regret it._ He leaned against the arm of the couch, his forehead against his palm, and closed his eyes in an attempt to quiet his thoughts.

The sound of the water shutting off roused him, and he nervously straightened his clothing. It was only a few minutes before Hawke appeared, bare-chested and wearing black drawstring trousers that hung low on his hips. Anders’ eyes roamed over Hawke’s skin, taking in the dark hair spread across the defined muscles of his chest, the small silver rings that adorned his nipples, the coarse trail from his navel that led beyond the waistband of his torusers, and the cocky jut of Hawke’s hip as the man leaned against the wall with a smirk.

“Like what you see?” he teased.

“You’re insatiable,” Anders responded, rolling his eyes, choosing not to respond to the obvious bait.

Hawke’s smirk faltered for a second as he shifted off the wall, and his brow furrowed as he walked to the kitchen, his movements stiff. “Do you want anything?”

“No, thank you,” Anders replied, fingers tracing idly through the condensation across his water glass.

Hawke returned to the living room with his own glass, and padded to the opposite end of the couch where he sat down gingerly. His breath hissed out, and he fixed Anders with a smug look, both of them knowing exactly why he was uncomfortable.

Suddenly self-conscious, Anders averted his eyes, focusing instead on the bookshelf along the far wall. The silence stretched as he searched for something to say.

“Good thing I don’t have to sit for work,” Hawke finally offered.

“Do you go in tonight?” the priest asked, new worry and guilt sparking at the thought of Hawke limping around the bar.

“No, I have Wednesdays off. Couldn’t have planned this better.” Hawke shifted, and Anders watched him grimace as he tried to get comfortable.

 _You’re not doing this properly,_ he scolded himself, and for once, he willingly pushed aside his hesitations in favour of Hawke. “You shouldn’t be sitting in your state. Lay down.”

“Bit hard when you’re taking up that half of the couch,” the man replied.

Anders held out his arm and beckoned Hawke closer. “Come here,” he said, gently. He caught the way Hawke’s eyes lit hopefully as he moved closer, so quick he’d almost missed it, and swallowed against a sudden shivery lightness in his chest.

Hawke was tentative, at first, stiff and unsure as he stretched out long on his side, laying his head obediently on Anders’ thigh. When the priest’s hand rested against his scalp and began gently stroking his hair, Hawke let out a quiet sigh, almost purring with contentment. With his sore ass throbbing, and his body warm from the shower and languid from his orgasm, the soft comfort was exactly the reassurance he needed.

After a moment of a more comfortable silence, Hawke shifted until he could look up at Anders’ face. “Tell me something about yourself?” he requested, smiling lazily.

Raising a brow, Anders continued smoothing his fingers through Hawke’s short hair. “What would you like to know?”

“Anything.” He’d been curious about Anders from the beginning, and after the evening’s activities, he was even more so, but he started simple. “Where did you grow up? Have any siblings? What’s your favourite colour?”

Anders settled back against the couch and smiled down at him, listing his answers in order. “The Anderfels, and then Ferelden. Not exactly. Green. Next?”

“What? That’s practically cheating.” The pout came through clearly in Hawke’s voice.

“You didn’t ask for details,” Anders teased, and the man in his lap huffed.

“Fine. What do you mean, _not exactly?_ How can you not exactly have siblings?”

The hand stilled briefly in Hawke’s hair as Anders shrugged, his voice tense. “I was in foster care for a long time. Sometimes there were other kids with me, sometimes I was the only problem child they’d decided to take on.”

Hawke laughed. “You? A problem child? You’re the perfect Chantry boy.”

“How dare you,” Anders mock-protested, poking Hawke in the nose before he slid his fingers back into the man’s hair, returning to his rhythmic stroking. “Sebastian’s the perfect Chantry boy. I’m just trying my best to make a difference.”

“You made a difference to me.” Hawke grinned, softening the cheesy line, and added, “How do you know how to do that, anyway? You’ve definitely spanked a man before. Well, a person, anyway.” He waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially. “Was the naughty priest a naughty man, long long ago?”

“The priest was a very naughty man,” Anders smirked. He tugged at Hawke’s hair, just a touch hard, drawing out a muffled noise. “He spent his late teens and early twenties sleeping with everyone who would have him, learning his way around a rope and flogger, and stealing everything that wasn’t nailed down.”

The look Hawke gave him was flat and mildly concerned. “I thought we agreed lying was a sin?”

“That’s quite an assumption,” Anders said enigmatically.

Hawke opened his mouth, and then frowned. “Wait. What’s the assumption? That you’re lying or that lying is a sin?”

Anders hummed noncommittally, and ghosted his fingers over Hawke’s bearded cheek instead, mouth twitching at the playfully sullen expression the man was giving him. “Now you’re just toying with me,” Hawke admonished.

“Maybe.” A beat, and then Anders yielded with a quiet sigh. “I’m not lying to you, Hawke. And for the record, it is a sin, but a very minor one.”

“Okay… you’re not off the hook on the _stealing shit,_ Maker knows, but… rope and flogger? You really know this kinky stuff, huh?” Pressing against the hand in his hair, Hawke smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid I’m not nearly as experienced with it.”

Anders smirked, but an uneasy feeling gripped him at the words. “You could have fooled me,” he joked, the hand in Hawke’s hair stilling again. "You should know that I was selfish in those days, and occasionally less than kind with my partners. I regret that. I never want to push anyone into anything again."

“You’re not pushing me, trust me. Did I seem reluctant earlier when I was begging you not to stop?” Hawke rested his hand on Anders’ elbow, squeezing briefly in reassurance. “I’ve done some of it before, you know, getting tied up and spanked, that kind of thing. Fuck, I can’t wait to see what else you’ll do to me. I trust you not to go too far.”

“I‘ll try,” Anders murmured, and fell back into silence, but resumed running his fingers through Hawke’s dark hair soothingly. The man’s trust tightened his chest, and he hoped it wasn’t misplaced.

Their formerly easy and relaxed conversation was veering into dangerous territory. Hawke chewed his lip a moment; he needed to know where the two of them stood, especially with what they’d just done. He’d managed to coax Anders this far, and though the priest was obviously a willing participant, he still had blatant doubts. Hawke didn’t want to see this over so soon.

“Anders,” he asked slowly. “You’re enjoying this, right?”

“I...“

Hawke could see the evasion coming, the avoidance of the answer before it began, and cut it off with a shake of his head. “No, I mean it. This is important. Whatever this is we’re doing - you’re having fun?”

Anders stared at him for a moment before he looked away. “Yes.”

“I am too.” When Anders still refused to meet his gaze, Hawke reached up and turned the priest’s face until they made eye contact. “I’m enjoying this, our little games. A lot. I want to keep doing it.”

The discomfort in Anders’ expression shifted, and he pursed his lips consideringly, then took Hawke’s intruding hand and held it between his own, stroking the strong fingers gently. After an interminable pause, he said, “All right.”

Hawke hardly dared to hope. “All right?”

“We’ll continue. It’s selfish… but you’ve succeeded in worming your way into my thoughts, and I’m not sure I could look at you without thinking of this any more. I don’t want to lose this.” Anders met the blossoming grin on Hawke’s face with a stern glare. “There are conditions.”

“Name it,” Hawke said instantly, and the blond’s mouth twitched in amusement.

Anders switched his focus to Hawke’s hand, his thumb rubbing against Hawke’s palm. “First, what are you looking for? How far do you want this to go?”

“Anything,” Hawke replied earnestly, abandoning all of his normal teasing. “Everything.”

“Really?” Anders chuckled. “I could tell you a few horrifying stories, and why that’s a bad plan… but, okay, for now.” The priest bit his lip in thought, and Hawke mentally filed the image away for future use. “Two things: I get to decide how far I’m comfortable taking this, and… Hawke, you know that this must remain a secret. I hate to do this to you. It’s not fair, but it’s important. I can’t...” He trailed off, trying to find the right words. “I can’t abandon the work I’m doing. If it were otherwise… I wish I could give you what you deserve.”

Whatever Anders imagined Hawke’s response would be, it wasn’t the relieved and excited look he got. “I agree to your terms,” Hawke grinned. “I have no doubt you’ll give me _exactly_ what I deserve.”

Anders shook his head, bringing Hawke’s fingers up to his lips and kissing them gently. “You’re impossible.”

“I do try.” Now that Hawke had gotten an agreement, a promise for more, his grin was irrepressible. Content, he batted his eyes up at Anders. “Want a sandwich?”

Brow raised, Anders scraped his teeth across a knuckle, drawing a startled gasp, and then released Hawke’s hand. “It is nearing dinner time, isn’t it? If you’d like to share some food, I wouldn’t mind.”

The ease at which they sat together, eating the frozen pizza Hawke had provided and talking of nothing of importance, took Anders by surprise. It had been years since he felt comfortable with anyone like this - since before the Chantry, in fact - and he yanked his thoughts away from that track forcefully.

Eventually, Anders noted the time, and despite how well the evening had gone, he needed to go home and collect his thoughts. “It’s getting late, Hawke. Thank you for dinner. And… your confession. I should be going.”

“Not going to spend the night?” Hawke flicked his tongue out over his lips enticingly, watching Anders put on his coat.

For once, the priest was completely honest in his response. “That’s a little much, just yet. None of this is appropriate, I know, but… let me get used to it.”

The half-promise of _maybe later_ caught Hawke’s breath, and he asked impulsively, needily, "When can we do this again?"

Anders looked over Hawke’s eager expression for a few moments, and finally responded, "I'll let you know."

"Come on, you’ve got to give me something!“ Hawke pleaded, standing just slightly in front of the door.

“I can see you’re going to be a difficult brat to tame.” Anders nearly smiled, but put on a stern look instead, fixing Hawke with a glare. “Do you want me in charge or not?” he asked, his voice darkening.

Hawke shivered almost imperceptibly, and breathed, “Please.”

“Good boy.” Stepping closer, the priest leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to Hawke’s forehead, his hand trailing lightly across Hawke’s neck. “I’ll let you know.”

* * *

Now that some of Anders’ anxiety had been lessened, he decided that he would resume his normal habit of going to the Hanged Man on Fridays. Not only could he use the drink, but having a chance to see Hawke in whatever way he could hadn’t lost its appeal.

He leaned against the counter, and Hawke caught his eye and winked, sauntering over to the taps without being asked to pull a cider. Another patron asked a question along the way, and Hawke leaned closer to answer, ignoring his duties and making the other bartender, Fenris, wait to fulfill his own order. After a few frustrating moments waiting for Hawke to move, the white-haired man apparently lost his patience, and whipped the bar rag he’d been clutching at Hawke’s ass.

The high-pitched shriek that Hawke made at the impact silenced the establishment, and all eyes turned to him. “What the fuck?” he yelled at Fenris, indignant and turning crimson as he pressed a hand delicately to his sore backside.

“Language!” Varric shouted from his position at the end of the bar, nodding towards Anders, who had his hand over his mouth. The laughter he’d been holding in burst out of him at the short man’s comment, and Varric stared at Anders in shock as the priest joined in with the rest of the bar in mocking Hawke’s startled noise.

“I’ll be damned, you do have a sense of humour,” Varric said, and then quickly added, “Er, sorry, Father. Not that I’d want to be, or anything.”

Anders waved his hand dismissively. “You’re forgiven, don’t worry.” Hawke sent a glare at him, while Isabela, one of the waitresses, joined in the teasing over Hawke’s embarrassment.

“Someone’s been a busy boy!” she crowed, shoving Hawke playfully. “I’m jealous, and I want details.”

“You’re not getting shit,” Hawke said adamantly, and pointed a finger at Fenris, who smirked. “And you’re no longer my friend.”

“You’ve gotta stop blaming others for your shortcomings, Hawke,” Varric scolded.

Hawke grumbled to himself, ignoring Isabela’s cackling, and returned to Anders with his cider, setting it down with a solid _thunk_. “You’re laughing at me too, huh?” he grumped, his face still flushed.

Anders pursed his lips. “I only worry for your immortal soul, Mr. Hawke. Perhaps you’re due for a confession?”

The expression on Hawke’s face was, Anders thought, one he would cherish for the rest of his life. Even Varric was impressed, and snickered at Hawke’s increasingly flustered appearance. “Father Blondie has a point, you’re on a direct path downward.”

“You don’t have to worry about offending my delicate sensibilities,” Anders continued. “I am aware that people do all sorts of deviant things. Being a priest doesn’t wipe my mind.”

Hawke managed to stutter out, “I hate all of you,” before heading into the back room.

Varric patted Anders on the shoulder. “You should speak up more often,” he said, turning back to his book, but Isabela caught his attention again by leaning over the counter directly in front of Anders, pressing her arms together to present an enticing view.

“What’s this about hearing deviant things?” she purred, and Anders raised an eyebrow at her prominently low-cut shirt as he sipped his cider. She put a hand over her lips, pretending to be scandalized as she always did when she "accidentally" let her abundant cleavage show in front of Anders, and straightened her posture. “Excuse me, Father.”

“I don’t think there’s an excuse for you, dear girl,” he responded, and Varric looked like he was having trouble hiding his snickering.

“Ooh, Varric was right. You should come around more often,” she said, winking. She turned to her boss, who coughed and tried to school his expression. “I’m still leaving early, remember?”

“I do not, when did I say this? And don’t lie, the good Father is right there.” Anders raised his glass to Varric, and Isabela sighed.

“I told you that Kitten and I had a lovely evening planned tonight, and you said, ‘That sounds lovely,’ and I took that to mean it was okay…. but come on,” she said, pouting. “It’s our anniversary.”

“It was your anniversary last month,” he responded.

“That was the anniversary of our first date!” she insisted. “I’ll make up the hours. Please?” She batted her eyelashes, and Varric rubbed his forehead.

“All right, all right. You’re lucky it’s dead for a Friday.”

“You’re the best,” she said, blowing him a kiss, and wandered off, leaving Varric to give Anders a resigned sigh.

Anders’ phone vibrated, and he slid it from his pocket, already guessing who the sender was.

> 10:37pm Hawke: _Glad you’re amused at my plight. You better not be proud of yourself that’s a sin_

He quickly tapped out, _You knew you’d be sore when you begged me not to stop._ , and went back to his cider. When Hawke reappeared a few minutes later, he responded to Anders’ innocent expression with a rude gesture. Anders wagged his finger at him scoldingly, and he heard Varric snort again.


	12. Chapter 12

_Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of the Maker’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to Him—this is your true and proper worship.  
Trials 12:1_

 

Aside from a few flirtatious texts, Hawke was silent over the weekend. Sunday Mass was made only mildly difficult by Hawke’s presence; Anders carefully kept his stoic expression throughout the service, thank the Maker, despite the way Hawke met his eyes and pretended to wince every time the congregation had to sit. As Hawke and his family exited the Chantry, the man gave Anders a sly wink and a grin. Anders responded with a tilt of his head and a subtle quirk of his brow, staring down his nose at Hawke. Watching the other man’s face flush from his admonishment was quickly becoming one of Anders’ favourite things.

Hawke retaliated later by sending Anders a message with an image attachment, which he didn’t dare acknowledge while he was still at the Chantry - but just the idea was enough to successfully distract him the entire evening. When Anders finally returned home to his meager apartment and opened the message, he put his hand over his mouth and shuddered out a harsh breath, desire spiking through him so hard he went dizzy.

> 6:32pm Hawke: _Forgot to send this to you last week ;)_  
> 

The photo had obviously been taken in Hawke’s bathroom, after the man’s "confession" on Wednesday. Hawke stood with his back to the mirror, looking over his shoulder with a smirk, his reddened and bruised ass glistening with Anders’ cum. He looked inordinately pleased with himself, and Anders stared for a long moment before cursing and tapping out a response.

> 9:45pm Anders: _That’s a good look for you._
> 
> 9:46pm Hawke: _Yeah it is. Too bad its already fading. Will you come over and bruise me some more_  
> 

“Maker save me,” Anders murmured, and though he badly wanted to agree, he had a long day ahead of him tomorrow.

> 9:49pm Anders: _Not tonight. I still have to plan what I’m going to do to you for your next penance._
> 
> 9:50pm Hawke: _Fuck. please dont make me wait long_
> 
> 9:51pm Anders: _Patience is a virtue, but I’ll consider any suggestions you have._  
> 

Hawke’s suggestion came the next day, another message with a picture attached. Anders carefully closed the door to the tiny office in his clinic before he checked it, and was presented with an obnoxiously-packaged vibrating plug, which apparently came with its own wireless remote.

> 6:30pm Hawke: _Bought this earlier. I thought that since you cant touch me this would be good? and maybe you can tie me down and use it on me ;) hows that for a suggestion_

Anders closed his eyes, picturing Hawke naked and shaking with the plug buried in his ass.

> 6:37pm Anders: _How much rope do you have?_
> 
> 6:45pm Hawke: _Sorry I just fucking broke a tap on the bar from that. Ill get some_

Anders smirked, hesitated for a few moments, and then gave in to his impulse to flirt back.

> 6:49pm Anders: _Good. Try not to get too distracted thinking about what I’m going to do with it._
> 
> 6:50pm Hawke: _Fucking too late fuck_
> 
> 6:51pm Anders: _Language, carelessness, and lustful thoughts? You’ll have quite the penance, boy._
> 
> 6:52pm Hawke: _:D i cant wait_

* * *

No matter how much he'd jacked off, a week of anticipation and teasing left Hawke half-hard as he tried to distract himself from Anders' impending visit. Echoing the last time, he straightened and cleaned things that didn't need cleaning, but an eager grin kept breaking through the anxiety. This time, he knew what to expect, at least to a degree.

The new toys he'd bought were optimistically set out on the bed, and his toy chest was in plain sight; everything was as ready as he could make it, without knowing exactly what the priest would want from him. And wasn't that a perfect thought? Anders taking what he wanted, what they _both_ wanted, fucking finally.

Hawke checked his phone again, just in case there were any new messages. Of course there weren't. Anders was driving. The last thing he'd received taunted him - _Are you ready for me?_ \- and he let out a shaky sigh, running a hand through his hair as he settled on the couch to wait.

Anders had again left the Chantry earlier than normal after spending far too long distracted by the anticipation, and resolved to deal with the consequences later. Hawke's teasing and promises burned through him until he had no hope of stopping his wandering mind. This was still so new; the thought of being able to have Hawke, in whatever way he could within his restrictions, was exciting, yet still frightening. After today, he resolved to make sure this... relationship, he supposed, that he now had with Hawke wouldn't come between him and his duties.

He was much more assured of himself as he strode to Hawke's door and rapped against it. The only greeting he gave Hawke, as the man opened the door and stepped aside with a grin, was a raised eyebrow. Anders waited until the door shut behind him, then reached for Hawke, the back of his fingers sliding across his jaw and down to his neck. "Did you miss me?" he asked coyly.

"You know I did," Hawke murmured, tilting his head back. His hand lifted, as if to grasp Anders' wrist, but he stopped himself, still unsure where the lines lay. Instead, he licked his lips, and offered, "Coat? Water?" Cocky smirk twitching back into life, Hawke added, "How shall I please you?"

Anders' fingers twitched against Hawke's neck, and he leaned in, avoiding Hawke's tempting mouth to purr against his ear, "I can think of a few ways." His lips grazed the skin just next to Hawke's jaw, and he felt the man shiver as he pulled away, shrugging out of his coat and offering it to Hawke. "We'll start with you showing me what I have to work with."

Hawke’s hands moved automatically as he put Anders' coat away, mind racing. He knew they'd agreed to this - had been looking forward to it all week - but the reality hadn't quite sunk in. Anders wanted to see his toys, wanted to _use them_ on him, and the thought curled heat in his gut, so the grin he offered became less cheeky and more shaken. "Yeah," he said roughly, and cleared his throat. "My bedroom's the, uh... down the hall. The room we didn't use last time." The memory of Anders spanking him until he screamed was not helping Hawke keep himself composed.

With a smile at Hawke's flustered state, Anders gestured for Hawke to follow, and made his way across the room. He tried not to show his own nervousness at the implications of seeing Hawke's bedroom, and kept the confident air in his stance as he opened the door. 

The room was tidy and relatively sparse, and Hawke's bed took up most of the space. Anders felt a thrill at seeing both the toy and the two lengths of black rope laid out and unpackaged already on the blanket, his mouth going dry at the thoughts and images that came to mind. As he stepped up to survey them, Anders' focus fell on the remote and the various settings it offered. He ran his fingers over the rope, humming in satisfaction, and glanced over to where Hawke stood in the doorway uncertainly. "You did well," he said, gesturing Hawke closer.

A breath left Hawke at the praise he hadn't known he was waiting for. Lust and nervousness warred in his chest, and until he came forward obediently, he wasn't quite sure which would win out.

"There's a chest, too. On the floor." He gestured to where he kept his existing toys, a simple but fine wooden chest below the end table. It stood open, giving tantalizing glimpses of the contents: a paddle, a bright blue dildo, a bottle of lube, and the blindfold from last week, among other things. "Not... There's not a lot, I'm sure, but I don't know what you're used to... Nothing, any more, huh? But - there’s enough, I hope..." Hawke reined back his rambling, and clutched one hand with the other, offering a smile. "Underbed straps, too."

It wasn't like he hadn't done this before, Hawke admonished himself. Taken men home. Offered his toys, himself. But somehow, Anders was different; he wanted to prove himself worthy of it.

Anders looked over the chest, his eyes drawn back to the blindfold momentarily, thinking of the way Hawke's breath had caught when Anders tied it over his eyes. He eyed the bed as well, already picturing Hawke spread across it, and he took a moment to form his face into a confident smirk as he turned back to the other man. "After six years, I'm not used to much of anything anymore," he admitted with a soft chuckle. 

Hawke's anxiety was obvious, and Anders only hesitated slightly before he stepped closer, bringing his hands up and leaning in as he stroked his thumbs over the man’s cheekbones. "It's more than enough. All of this, and what we're doing... don't doubt that. I only hope I can live up to your expectations."

"You've been amazing so far." This time, Hawke didn't resist the impulse to rest his hands on Anders' wrists. The simple contact was grounding, and he used it to press his rough cheek into one warm palm, breathing in sandalwood, and then smirked up at Anders as he got his composure back. "I suppose nibbling on your fingers is too much," Hawke sighed, and then let go. "I'm all yours, Father." The word pulled his gaze to the collar of his station Anders still wore, come directly from the Chantry as he had, and Hawke licked his lips.

“Maybe another time for that.” Anders was momentarily distracted by Hawke's warm hands against his skin, but he didn't miss where the man's eyes focused, or the faint blush that spread across his face. The priest raised an eyebrow, thinking back to the times when Hawke's gaze had lingered at his throat, and he removed one hand to run his finger across the white inset he'd never really thought about before. "You like the collar?" he asked, and when Hawke tried to avert his eyes in embarrassment, Anders gripped his jaw to prevent it. "You like the thought of a priest punishing you for your sins?" And he had to swallow back anything else, part of him wondering if _that's_ what this had all been about, with Anders only serving as a figure for Hawke's fantasies.

Hawke's knees weakened at the words. "I-it's..." he stuttered, gaze forced forward to flick between Anders' face and the fingers tracing idly over the white collar at his throat. "It's a turn-on, yes." He swallowed, trying to hide how much of an understatement that was. "You make it look damn good. Of course, you looked damn good in the bar in the first place," he added, with a slight grin.

Appeased, Anders' lips quirked, tilting his head until he could look down his nose at Hawke. "I'll leave it on then," he said darkly. "And you’ll address me as Father, when I’m wearing this. Does that sound good?” When Hawke nodded, his breath leaving him in a stuttered rush, he withdrew his hand, nails scratching down Hawke's jaw. “I think you're in need of some penance."

He took a step back and looked Hawke over for a long moment. "Take off your clothes," he finally ordered.

Cheeks flushed, breath coming harder in anticipation, Hawke readily began to strip, pulling his shirt off and tossing it carelessly into a corner. Placing his hands behind his head, he stretched, showing off the defined muscles of his belly and chest, and the silver rings pierced through both nipples. He worked at looking this good, and he knew it; it gave him confidence. "Can't punish me for nothing, Father. What sins could I possibly have committed?"

Anders did nothing to hide his appreciative gaze, and started rolling up his sleeves as he stared at Hawke. "Lust, certainly. I've seen the evidence of _that_ first hand. Envy as well; you spoke of that last time, and I neglected to punish you for it." He fixed Hawke with a sharp glare. "And you're wrong; I can punish you for anything I wish."

Every time Hawke thought he'd gained his footing, Anders swept it out from under him. His mouth went dry, and it took him a moment to remember he was supposed to be stripping. Dropping his hands to his jeans, Hawke finished in a hurry, eager to continue, and pulled them off along with his boxers and socks, tossing the whole bundle towards the same corner as his shirt.

Standing naked in front of his priest, Hawke felt himself harden further, and he resisted the impulse to turn away or cover himself, hands flexing at his sides. "Yeah, you can," he finally answered, quietly, giving permission.

Anders' heated fantasies didn't compare to the reality of Hawke's naked form; the definition of strong muscles under his smooth skin, the dark hair that spread across his chest, the rings glinting tauntingly in the light, and that hardening, beautiful cock, all combined to make Anders’ eyes darken in appreciation. Every part of him longed to reach for the man, to throw him to the bed and mark every inch with his mouth and his hands, and the priest took a calming breath before he stepped forward.

Anders circled Hawke slowly, resisting the urge to reach out and touch as his eyes roamed over the other man. The faded bruising across Hawke's ass made him hum in approval. When he'd finished and stood before Hawke again, Anders ran his fingers lightly across Hawke's bearded jaw, down his long neck to his collarbone, tracing along it before he withdrew, stopping himself from going any further. "You're beautiful," he murmured.

Being assessed like a horse at auction probably should have unnerved Hawke, but instead, he felt himself calming as Anders' eyes roamed approvingly, secure in the knowledge that he was doing exactly what he was supposed to. The gentle stroking and the soft praise nearly made him purr, and he favoured Anders with a languid smile as he asked, "I meet approval, then?"

"Oh, yes," Anders said, and let his eyes wander for a moment longer before fixing Hawke with a sharp look. "You're being very good for me. Let's see if that continues."

The priest turned away, taking the rope from the bed and setting it out of the way on Hawke's dresser. He approached the wooden chest, taking the bottle of lube and tossing it next to the toy. "Lay on the bed, on your back," he commanded. "I want you to ready yourself, and slide that toy into your ass."

Hawke shivered at Anders' words, at even the _idea_ of this, then gave him a wry grin as he settled on the bed and picked up both objects. "I think this half's yours," Hawke commented as he handed the remote over, before snapping open the bottle and coating his right hand in a generous amount of lube.

Taking a breath, Hawke laid back and slipped his arm behind his back, arching up and spreading his legs. If Anders couldn't let himself touch, he'd at least get a good show out of this. A finger slipped in easily, and Hawke moaned, the plug clutched in his other hand. "How many fingers do you think I'll need?" he asked breathlessly, working one in and out. Impatient, another finger joined the first, and Hawke hissed at the stretch. "Three will make it easy... Two will make it burn."

Anders was so hard that he ached, lust spiking through him as soon as Hawke put himself on display with a finger teasing his entrance, forcing Anders to lean against the dresser in case his knees gave out. "Two," the priest replied unwaveringly, knuckles white against the wood as he focused on watching Hawke's fingers thrust into his slick hole. "It is a punishment, after all." Maybe another time - and that thought alone made him shiver - he would have Hawke finger himself again, until he was begging for more, but today he had other plans.

"Lust and envy, Father?" Hawke groaned distractedly. Working himself open felt good enough on its own, but every time he glanced down he caught a glimpse of the way Anders was watching him, and his breathing was quickly turning ragged.

Finally satisfied, Hawke pulled his slick fingers out with a gasp. He fumbled with the toy for a moment before he'd managed to get it lubed up, the bottle capped and safely on the end table. Hawke made deliberate eye contact with the priest as he reached between his legs and slid the plug home, mouth falling open and back arching up in an obvious show of pleasure.

"Good," Anders growled, stepping away from the dresser so fast that it knocked against the wall roughly, and approaching the bed. "Put your arms to either side. I’m going to attach the straps, and then I’m going to tie your legs together." When Hawke complied eagerly, he gripped the man's wrist, fastening one underbed strap around it and smirking at the man's whimper. Crossing to the other side of the bed, he repeated the process with Hawke's other arm, then stood at the foot of the bed, looking the man over. "Too tight?" he asked, reaching for the rope.

"Not too tight," Hawke whispered, voice uneven. The plug filled him, feeling large and obvious with the little amount of preparation he'd used, and he shifted his hips fitfully against the bed, tugging on the straps to test their give. His eyes roamed over Anders' fully clothed form, his confidence, his _power_ over him nearly frightening with how much it turned Hawke on. "Gonna tell me what else you've got planned, Father?" he finally managed.

Anders' smile was dangerous, and he drew out answering by unwinding the length of rope slowly. "You've been a very sinful man, Hawke. Teasing, flirting, touching yourself all the time, and now leading a priest into temptations of the flesh." He clucked his tongue scoldingly. "I think you need to know how terrible of a sin lust really is, how tortured you can get when I tease you to release over and over, until you beg for it to stop.”

He reached across the bed and picked up the remote for the toy. "And speaking of... I should make sure this works before I finish preparing you, don't you think?" He cocked an eyebrow and clicked the lowest setting, just to get Hawke used to the idea.

Hawke had stifled a whimper at Anders’ words, and the sudden vibration wasn't a surprise, not with the way Hawke watched every move Anders made, but it felt amazing. He tilted his head back against the mattress, letting out a breathy groan. "You think I'll beg you to stop?" Hawke asked. "That's quite the claim for someone who won't touch me."

The remote clicked off. "I do. I know that you will, especially since you need to learn your place." Anders grabbed Hawke's legs and pulled them together, the movement dragging him lower on the mattress and stretching his arms. "You'll understand when I'm done." He wound the rope across Hawke's thighs, just above his knees, and continued wrapping until the man's legs were bound down to his calves.

Every action shifted the toy inside him, and Hawke's eyes were bright as he watched Anders work. The priest really had done this before; his hands were quick and sure, finishing the knot expertly so that Hawke couldn't twitch his legs apart at all - and when he tried, he felt what the position did to him. Exposed, restrained, his bound legs only increasing his helplessness, the plug was held firmly inside so that no matter how he writhed, it would stay put. Before he could stop it, Hawke let out a needy whimper.

Anders couldn't help the satisfied smile as he pulled away from the bed, looking down at Hawke's restrained form and his desperate expression. "Patience," he soothed, running his fingers across the black rope, and saw Hawke's cock twitch as he held the remote up. "You're too eager for it. Should I add 'greed' to your list of sins?"

"If you think I deserve it," Hawke managed, pupils blown wide with lust, but he tried to still his body, turning his hands until he could grasp the straps running down the edge of the bed.

"Mmm, not yet." Anders stepped back. "We'll see how you do with this... but first, in all of your 'experience,’ were you familiar with safewords?"

"Ah... yeah." Hawke couldn't help but laugh, even trussed up like this. "Never had to use it, though. It's, uh. It's 'Meredith.' Don't ask why."

Anders made a surprised face and then let out a chuckle. "I'm sorry, no one's ever used a _name_ before, I think I'm going to ask." He looked Hawke over appreciatively. "But not now."

Anders toed off his black dress shoes and nudged them aside, drawing out Hawke's anticipation as he turned and surveyed the contents of the dresser. Nothing seemed to suit his purpose, but then his eye fell on the chest, and he removed the wooden paddle. Hawke's eyes widened as he approached with it, but he merely placed it gently across Hawke's stomach. "If you let this fall, your punishment will be more severe. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Repeat your safeword for me."

'Meredith."

"Good boy." Anders pressed the remote, one step higher than the lowest power.

Hawke arched up before remembering himself, then flattened his body carefully, the paddle having wobbled but thankfully not fallen. "Fuck," he swore, needing to release himself somehow when he couldn't writhe. It was worse, like this; he wanted to press his hips into the bed, wanted to pull at the bindings and try to spread his legs, but didn't dare. "Oh, fuck, Anders."

“Did you forget so soon?” Anders ratcheted up the power for a brief second, watched Hawke tense and grit his teeth against a shout. “How do you address me?” 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Father,” Hawke whimpered, his jaw unclenching as the priest lowered the vibration, appeased.

Anders let it run on the lower setting a moment longer, then switched it off, watching Hawke's forearms shift as he tried not to writhe. "I seem to remember you having trouble imagining I could make you beg like this," he said smugly. "I think you'll be surprised."

He clicked the remote in shorter bursts this time, leaving Hawke with time to breathe for only a moment before starting again. "I think you'll be fine here for a while, won't you?" Anders asked, heading to the door and looking over his shoulder at Hawke bound deliciously on the bed. "I'll be right back."

"What?" Hawke blinked, shocked, and then tried to sit up automatically to look at Anders before he remembered his predicament and fell back again, the paddle shaking. "You're - _shit_." Somehow, he knew it would be useless to protest, or ask how long - he was expected to endure, and the thought made him moan helplessly, squeezing his eyes shut as he pressed his head back into the bed.

Anders ran a hand through his hair as he walked down the hall, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Maker, the sight _alone_ of Hawke, naked and tied and at his mercy, was already threatening to undo him. He made his way to the kitchen for some water, and clicked the remote a few times, for good measure. By the sounds of it, the signal had enough strength to reach across the townhouse, and he gave a nervously manic giggle at how ridiculously depraved his life had suddenly become.

Left alone to wait for Anders' whim, Hawke did everything he could to keep from dislodging the paddle; clenched his fists, arched his neck, tensed his thighs, and swore loudly and profusely, when the vibrations suddenly pitched up for a moment. He desperately wanted to press back onto the plug, rock his hips into it, but even if he'd ignored the paddle and tried, the bindings wouldn't let him get anything out of it. Eyes squeezed tightly shut against the thought of how long Anders had been gone, and how long he still may have to wait, Hawke panted breathlessly into the empty room.

Anders stood against the kitchen counter, listening to the delightful noises Hawke was making, and gauging how long he could tease Hawke with the plug by how desperate they became. His unoccupied hand palmed his cock through his trousers just to find some relief of his own, and he let out a low groan, biting his lip. He'd already planned out this evening, though, and he withdrew his hand to keep from letting himself get carried away. He padded to the office, still flicking the remote intermittently, and dragged out Hawke's office chair.

By the time Anders returned, Hawke was sheened with sweat, chest heaving enough to shake the paddle precariously where it sat on his stomach. He latched onto the sound of the chair being pulled into the room, and snapped his eyes open to seek the man out. " _Please_ ," Hawke groaned shamelessly.

Anders smiled at him dangerously, positioning the chair to the side of the bed, so that Hawke could see him. "You’re doing so well," he purred, approaching and setting aside the paddle, eyeing Hawke's straining erection and the way his muscles tensed. "I think you deserve a reward for that."

The priest sat on the side of the bed, running a hand through Hawke's damp hair, and leaned in to give Hawke a slow, languid kiss, letting out a soft moan of his own as their tongues met. 

When Anders kissed him, oh, did Hawke melt into it, straining up away from the bed now that he was able, arching his back and jerking his hips in vain pursuit of deeper, harder, _more_. The vibration continued, just hard enough that he could feel it in his cock where it jerked against his stomach. When Anders finally pulled back, Hawke whined at the loss, biting his lip as he stared up at the priest playing his body so easily.

“All right?” Anders asked, his voice softening.

“Yes,” Hawke whimpered, eyes falling shut. “I’m good. It’s good. More. Please.”

Anders tugged at Hawke's hair a bit as he stood, walking over to the chair and lounging in it, resting his elbows on the armrests. He turned the vibration strength up again, still not all the way, and watched Hawke with a smirk. "Do you think you could come like this, bound and helpless and at my mercy?"

"Yes!" Hawke grit out. Easily. He could feel the jolt in his cock already, and the words only hit him harder. He tugged at the straps around his wrists, needing to feel something solid, and pressed his hips down into the mattress, wishing he could spread his legs and change the angle.

"Are you close, Hawke?" Anders asked, brushing a hand over his own clothed arousal.

"So close, shit, Father - " Precum smeared across his stomach as he jerked his hips once more, and then everything _stopped_ , and Hawke gasped harshly, trembling, eyes snapping open as he felt his orgasm fall away from him. "Why?!" The look he turned on the other man was betrayed, nostrils flaring as he panted.

"For your lust," Anders said. "And if you talk back again, I'll gag you and leave the room." He waited long moments, running a hand idly over his trousers, until Hawke's breathing calmed, then turned the vibration on again, pulsing it hard and then softer.

Hawke knew it was a bad plan, but he was using all of his self-control already and didn't have the presence of mind to restrain himself. “You’re punishing me for lust, so you’re getting me off?” he challenged, staring at Anders and that wicked hand on the controls.

Anders looked at him sharply, turned off the vibration and let out a disappointed sigh, raising himself from the chair.

“Shit,” Hawke whimpered, loud in the sudden silence of the room. "I'm sorry," he begged, arching in a way he hoped was pleasing, suddenly desperate to regain Anders’ favour, "don't leave me here, Anders, please. Father. I'll be good. I need you, you - you can gag me, just... don't leave. Fuck. Maker, I need it, _please_."

The priest paused for a moment, looking down at Hawke as he toyed with the remote in his hand, and when he sank back down the bound man let out a choked noise that went right to his cock. "I'm feeling generous," Anders said darkly. "And though you misspoke again, you begged me so nicely, so I'll give you one more chance." 

He waited for a few moments to let his words sink in, then asked again in a calmer tone, “Are you still all right, Hawke?” Though the man nodded emphatically in response, Anders waited until he received a verbal affirmation, then turned the plug back on, spiking the vibration again, but holding back on maxing it out. 

Hawke cried out this time, digging his feet into the blankets as his back bent in pleasure. His hair clung to his damp forehead, and he grit his teeth against a howl as he yanked at the straps holding him to the bed, wanting nothing more than to wrap his hand around his aching cock, red and dribbling over his stomach, even untouched as it was.

Anders bit his lip, watching raptly as Hawke's body arched so beautifully, and rubbed a thumb over the head of his clothed cock as he waited for that right moment, when Hawke's breath stuttered into gasps, when his thighs trembled with the strain, then clicked the remote off again. "That one was for your language, and your back-talk," he said with a smirk.

"Andraste's fucking swollen tits!" Hawke cursed, long and profusely, and distantly, had the presence of mind to note the irony of swearing at a punishment intended for his language. He writhed against the bed, trying to get friction, pressure, anything, but it was futile - the priest had tied him well, and he was at Anders' mercy. After a few moments, Hawke calmed just a bit, but his breathing still came out ragged, nearing a sob, as his eyes focused on the man controlling this torturous ecstasy. "Please," he whispered, pressing his hips upward beseechingly.

"Please what, Hawke?" Anders drawled, flicking open the button on his trousers and sliding his hand into the waistband, his eyes half-closing as he wrapped his hand around himself. "I don't think you've learned your lesson yet," he groaned.

" _Oh_ ," Hawke breathed, watching Anders touch himself. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to see that cock again, more than a glimpse this time, up close where he could nearly touch it. "What lesson is that?" he asked absently, more fixated on the way Anders' hand moved, hidden by the fabric, than on his own words.

"The perils of falling to lust, of course." Anders smirked coyly. He stroked himself slowly, staring at the man's parted lips, imagining them stretching around his cock. "Your penance is getting that thrill, having it burn in you, unable to stop it, until you can't stand it any more and beg for release," he purred. His grip tightened around his cock, and he let out a soft moan for Hawke's benefit. "Only to have it snatched away from you, again and again. Until _I_ decide you can come." 

"Maker." Hawke closed his eyes on a groan, then forced them open again, drawn to the delicious sight in front of him. Hardly aware of what he was saying, Hawke sighed, "You're perfect. I wish you'd let me suck you off." Blinking, he shifted, and then smiled a little and added deliberately, "I wish you'd use my throat."

Anders' eyes narrowed, and he activated the plug again, keeping it low and teasing and withdrawing his hand from his trousers. "I should have gagged you," he observed, rising slowly from the chair and walking to the bed. He set down the remote to fist Hawke's hair, pulling until the man whimpered. "Still so arrogant, keeping up that mask of bluster, right up until someone puts you in your place, and then you just _fall apart_." His tone was appreciative. "It's lovely to see." 

Anders released Hawke and reached for the remote again, clutching it but not changing anything, his other hand toying with his waistband. "It's unfortunate that I'm your priest and forced to only punish you for your sins. If I were a lesser man, I'd give in." Anders teased his fingers at the edge of his black button-down shirt and across his navel, smirking at Hawke's desperate expression and pulsing the vibrator briefly. "I meant to punish you for your envy by stroking myself off in that chair while you whimpered. But maybe, if you beg nicely enough, I'll let you watch me come."

"Please," Hawke responded instantly, eyes wide. "I want to see it. I want to see you, I haven't been able to see you come yet, it's always been behind me and I _want you_ , Maker, you have no idea." Licking his lips, Hawke started to go into detail, and then remembered that he was threatened with a gag for that, and changed tactics. "Please, Father," he begged, "Please let me watch, I'll be so good for you - anything you ask."

 _Do I please you?_ Hawke wanted to ask, and need shone in his eyes. _Do it, use me, pin me down and take it from me, I want you in me and around me, I want to taste you._

Anders had the presence of mind to turn off the remote, at least, before sliding his trousers and briefs down far enough that just a hint of his cock showed above the fabric. But then Hawke made a strangled noise, and Anders was done teasing, pulling himself out and stroking once, hard, along his length. Anders knew he wouldn't last long, not with Hawke's lovely begging ringing in his ears, knew he'd come hard just from the man's desperate expression and the sight of Hawke tied, aching, and writhing before him.

"You look so good like this," Anders panted, his fingers gripping his leaking cock and slicking down his length. His hips rocked forward, and he tightened his hand until he was fucking into his fist. "Gorgeous. _Perfect_. I can't... I... oh fuck, Hawke..." he grit out between his teeth, his left hand trembling with the need to touch Hawke and feel his flushed, hot skin against his fingertips, just the thought of it enough to make him cry out. He hips jerked as he came, spilling thickly across Hawke's chest, and he wavered a bit on his feet, dizzy from the force of it.

Somewhere in his mind, Hawke knew this was supposed to be a punishment, but he couldn't bring himself to care, and his mouth watered on the wish that Anders had come across his mouth instead so he could taste it. For a moment, he wondered if he could bend his neck enough to manage one of the stripes across his chest, but he gave up that thought quickly as movement shifted the toy inside him, and his head fell back with a helpless groan of, "Fuck, An- Father, please, is it enough?"

Anders gave a short laugh and sat down on the bed next to Hawke, jostling the man and hearing him whimper again. "What's wrong, Hawke, you can't take it?" he asked, voice thick with pleasure. 

Once again, the priest turned on the plug, amping up the vibrations until Hawke’s body tensed and shook, watching raptly as Hawke’s mouth fell open with a loud moan as he writhed. From this angle, so close to Hawke, Anders could feel the heat of the man’s body and see each muscle of his arms and abdomen tense as Hawke’s pleasure built higher and higher at Anders’ whim. “You’re so lovely when you’re desperate,” Anders purred. 

Hawke gasped, his hips thrusting hard against empty air, and when Anders switched off the remote he let out a plaintive sob, tossing his head in frustration. “That one,” Anders explained with a smile, brushing Hawke’s hair back with his fingers, “was because I felt like it.”

“Oh please, Father, _please_ ,” Hawke begged, his voice ragged. His mind was empty of all thoughts except how badly he wanted Anders to let him come, how badly he wanted Anders to just _touch_ him, to give him anything and everything.

Anders’ gaze lingered hungrily on Hawke's wet, straining cock, and the man’s breath hitched as Anders turned the vibration onto the lowest setting. A finger trailed lightly across the mess on Hawke's chest, so careful and quick, and Anders brought it to Hawke's lips, spreading it across the man's lower lip as he leaned over to murmur, "I free you from your penance; come for me," and cranked up the power on the remote to the max.

The taste had barely filtered through to Hawke's tongue when his eyes went wide, hips jerking up and then pressing down into the bed to feel those vibrations everywhere, jostling deliciously against his insides, harsh on his sensitive rim, thrumming through his aching cock. He pulled hard on the straps and strained up towards Anders' heat, pleading brokenly, "Touch me, please, anything, I don't - I need - I'm _going_ to, don't _stop_ , just touch me, please, please, please, Maker fuck!"

Anders couldn't resist, not with Hawke begging so beautifully, and he kissed Hawke again, coaxing and gentle, swallowing his cries and tasting the hint of himself against Hawke’s tongue, his spent cock twitching at the thought. The hand not holding the remote curled around Hawke's cheek, slid down his neck and scratched a line along the long column of Hawke's throat, coming to rest on his chest to feel his heaving breaths.

Hawke howled at the sting, breaking away from the kiss to arch off the bed as he came untouched, clenching around the plug and adding to the mess on his stomach and chest. He turned his head blindly, pulling until he could barely press his face into Anders' arm, desperately needing the contact - until he realized the vibrations _weren't stopping_ , and his eyes flew wide again, fixing on the priest's smug expression where he’d pulled back a little. “Please - “ he whimpered brokenly, pulling on his bonds, "Father, e-enough!"

Anders drank in his first sight of Hawke’s face as he came, the sweet agony across his features, and his pleading, desperate look from the overstimulation. "That doesn't sound like your safeword," he teased as he ran his fingers through Hawke's sweat-damp hair, mostly to remind the man of its existence, but he still dialed down the vibrations until they were at the lowest setting, then snapped it off.

Panting, Hawke's hips finally collapsed to the bed, entire body relaxing. He'd come harder than he could remember, even without Anders touching him seriously - and shit, he could hardly think of what the man could do if he allowed himself the freedom. "I didn't - I - " Hawke tried between breaths, blinking sluggishly, and then, "Wasn't my safeword on purpose. I remember it. I _trust_ you. I'm just - Maker, Anders." He whined, and tugged at his wrists, which were chafing a little in their restraining straps. "Let me - I need you." Brain fuzzy from the overwhelming pleasure, Hawke didn't know how to articulate that he needed Anders to hold him, pet him, like he'd done on the couch, but he hoped the man would understand his clumsy words.

"Shh, I know," Anders soothed. "I've got you. Hang on." He rose and set the remote aside, still murmuring reassurances as he fastened his trousers to at least keep them from falling. He quickly removed the straps from Hawke's wrists and unbound his legs, tossing the rope off the bed while Hawke stretched his arms out carefully, wincing. There was a moment of difficulty with the plug as his vows warred with wanting to properly care for Hawke, but eventually he sighed and sank back to the bed, gently helping Hawke shift so that his head was in the priest's lap again. 

"You'll have to take that out," he said. Long fingers ran across Hawke’s scalp, massaging gently.

“Holy fuck,” Hawke muttered, clinging to Anders’ other arm, his flushed face pressed into the priest’s knee.

“Are you all right?” Anders asked softly. “Was that too much?”

Hawke shook his head. “It was amazing. And I can’t think or like… words. But, fuck.” He giggled to himself. “I think you’re in the wrong line of work.”

Later, after Hawke had showered and they’d retired to the living room, Hawke lay blissed-out and shamelessly naked across the couch, head in the priest’s lap with his eyes closed. Anders thought back to earlier in the evening and stifled a grin. His fingers didn’t pause in their petting of Hawke’s head when he asked, “So, who’s Meredith?”

“Oh, right,” Hawke said with a snort. He opened his eyes halfway. “Ex-girlfriend. The one and only, thank the fucking Maker. It was the least sexy thing I could think of.”

“That bad, hmm?”

“Nah, just… I was young. We were stupid. And I realized very quickly that girls were _not_ my thing.” Hawke’s eyes closed as Anders rubbed his temples and gently stroked through his hair. “Also, you can ask or do whatever you want, as long as you keep doing that.”

“Watch out, I might hold you to it,” Anders teased, running his forefinger across Hawke’s brow.

Hawke grinned and rubbed his cheek against Anders’ leg. “If it’s anything like what just happened, I can’t wait to see what other terrible things you’ll do to me.”

“Terrible? You _screamed_ for it, Mr. Hawke.”

A laugh lit Anders' features when Hawke shivered, and then turned and snapped his teeth against Anders’ trousers teasingly. “Damn right I did.”


	13. Chapter 13

_What causes quarrels and what causes fights among you? Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you?_  
_Andraste 4:1_

 

Anders had again resisted Hawke’s offer to stay the night, tempting as it might have been. He had to keep up some sense of control of the situation, after all, and he knew he’d have a long day ahead of him at the clinic. Thursdays were the only day he could devote entirely to it. The only other shelter in Darktown was at capacity already, and with winter around the corner, more and more people would be looking for help.

It didn’t matter that there weren’t enough beds; Merrill had found as many old blankets as she could at local thrift stores, and they’d make spaces in the evening by moving the dining tables. Some of the residents complained, but most were grateful for anything they could get. Anders had more worry for the amount of food needed to feed their growing population. Lirene was doing her best with what supplies they had stored, but they would run out soon, and the next burst of funding from the Chantry wasn’t due for a week.

By noon, the priest had already dealt with a loud, petty argument between two grown men, a child’s hand needing to be bandaged, and the bitter frustration of being pulled in many different directions for hours on end as he saw to everyone’s needs. Anders finally managed to break away and find some peace in the flat, derelict area behind the clinic, smiling at the familiar white cat that rubbed against his legs for affection. He’d always set out what little food was left for the strays that roamed the neighborhood: more tiny lives that needed help in this city. He could only do so much.

“What would you do, Purrcival?” Anders mused as he watched it eat. The cat turned a baleful eye on him, and he laughed softly. “Take what you want and sod the world, right? Sorry, kitty. I can’t do that.”

The cat found other interests when the food was gone, and Anders was left alone with his thoughts, turbulent as they were; amidst all the chaos, he couldn’t stop thinking about Hawke. It wasn’t all lustful, either, even though the memories of the man restrained and pleading were pleasantly distracting. But even the elation from last night couldn’t stop Anders from doubting. It went beyond the guilt at taking their relationship this far, the worries that he was failing his calling and all those he’d hoped to help; those fears had resurfaced, but with them was the insecurity of Hawke’s motivations.

The priest feared Hawke’s infatuation wasn’t with him, or at least, hadn’t been motivated by his physical attraction to Anders, but by his station. He remembered Hawke’s expression as he’d admitted the thought of being with a priest was arousing, the way he’d averted his eyes, obviously embarrassed. Was the shame for the admission itself, or for having Anders know what had made Hawke pursue him in the first place? The thought that he was being used as a means to an end alarmed him, especially because of all he was risking.

And Maker, aside from his personal feelings, he’d _encouraged_ Hawke in it, with their games about “penance” and calling Anders “Father.” What did that say about _him_ for condoning it, for even enjoying it? Because he had, there was no denying that, and it went beyond trying to give Hawke everything he wanted; despite it making a mockery of his position, despite knowing how blasphemous it was, Anders felt a lingering, sick thrill at the idea of defiling the Chantry’s traditions. His station did hold a sort of power over others, and he’d always been fond of power and control. He’d never thought that all of the pomp and circumstance surrounding worship was necessary, and he’d been learning over the years that the funding it took to provide all of the rituals and trappings diminished the Chantry’s ability to actually provide the assistance Andraste intended. Maybe having Hawke confess and receive punishment for his sins was Anders’ act of rebellion, and the thought made him laugh out loud.

The back door opened, and Merrill peeked out from behind it. “Oh, Father, there’s someone here to see you,” she said, apologetically.

Anders nodded and stepped inside, with the girl following behind him. “It’s not another new resident, is it?” he asked, knowing that she would likely look more worried at the thought.

“No, he just wanted to talk to you about the clinic,” she chirped.

Anders worried for a moment that he’d forgotten about an appointment with a repairman, but as he turned the corner and entered the main room, he saw Hawke standing near the door, looking at some of the self-help resources on the counter. Anders stopped so suddenly that Merrill knocked into him, and her surprised noise made Hawke turn.

“Sorry!” Merrill exclaimed, “Sorry. I’m always running into people.” She walked away, still scolding herself, to check on a few children who were examining the contents of a beaten-up toy basket.

Anders turned his attention to Hawke, who offered a secretive smile which only added to his frustration. “Mr. Hawke,” the priest said, keeping his expression neutral. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I had some free time, and I thought that I would pay this place a visit. Wanted to see what my family’s donations were getting used for.” Hawke eyed the hospital-like decor and worn furniture with a raised eyebrow. “Seems like this place could use more of it.”

“It could, yes. We could always use more of everything.” Anders glanced around and found no one needing his attention, for the moment. “I suppose I could show you around, if you want.”

Hawke’s smile faltered at the terseness in Anders’ voice. “If this is a bad time, I can come back…”

“No, it’s fine,” Anders replied, attempting to put his public face back on, and gestured for Hawke to follow.

They walked through the main room, where residents sat at the battered dining tables and tried to entertain themselves with donated books and board games and the old television in the corner, and Anders nodded to Lirene as he passed the kitchen. Down the hall, two other rooms held rows of cots, enough space to sleep twelve in each by crowding everyone in. Hawke looked at everything with a surprisingly keen eye, frowning as they went on. Anders had returned them to the main room and was in the middle of explaining the process for accepting residents when Hawke held up a hand and stopped him.

“This is all supported by the Chantry, right?” the man asked.

“Yes, aside from the two volunteers we have, and my own income. Why?”

“Your own income?” Hawke gave him an incredulous look, and Anders stiffened at the tone, defensive.

“I don’t need luxuries, Hawke.”

Hawke opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it, shaking his head. “The Chantry should be providing everything this place needs. It’s… not exactly as put-together as I expected.”

"Yes, Mr. Hawke,” Anders snapped, compelled to defend the project that was so close to his heart, “I am aware that the wallpaper is peeling, the building is freezing and the appliances are ancient. It's still a hundred times better than these people sitting outside, unsheltered and unfed." He caught Merrill’s concerned look in his direction, but he waved her off.

Taken aback, Hawke frowned. "I... wasn't arguing that, Father. I can see how much this place is needed. I just… do you know how much money I have sitting in investments right now? I could help.”

“What?” Anders blinked at the offer, speechless for the moment.

“Look, can we talk?” Hawke asked, glancing around. “Privately?”

The priest stared at him before nodding stiffly. “Of course. This way.”

The room Anders led him to was small and cramped, a repurposed storage room that he’d fit a few crates into instead of a desk, and lined the walls with filing boxes. The blond gestured around, and then sighed. “You can sit on a crate, I suppose.”

“I’m fine,” Hawke said softly as the door closed behind them, trapping them far too close together. “Anders, there’s obviously something wrong.”

“You mean other than my building falling apart and my service not having enough food, blankets, or warm clothing to keep everyone alive?” Hawke watched him steadily, and it only reminded Anders of his previous worries, his frustrations reaching a boiling point with Hawke’s unexpected visit and comments about his work. He carefully kept his voice down, knowing how sound carried through the thin insulation, as he hissed, “What we’re doing is unacceptable. This ‘relationship’ is absurd. You don't know anything about me, other than the fact that I'm your priest and it gets you off!"

A flash of guilt stole his breath, then, and he would have taken it back had Hawke not flushed in embarrassment and immediately responded.

"I know plenty. I know you’re a good man who had a hard past, I know you regret some things you did and you’re trying to make up for it, and I know you’re doing a wonderful job of that! Sure, yes, the thought that you’re a priest gets me fucking hard, but that’s not the reason I want you, it’s just… an added bonus? I guess? I know it’s fucked up but that’s beside the point.” Waving a hand dismissively, Hawke continued, “The point is, this wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. Look at this place! It needs you to hold it together! All these people would be lost without you, and that’s damned commendable. I know enough about you, to know I want to know _more_.”

“I’m… sorry.” Anders sighed, deflated by Hawke’s consolations, and sat heavily onto a crate. "Hawke... You must know you threaten _everything_. And I still... I can’t stop, with you. I don’t want to stop. Andraste would be ashamed of me."

Hawke actually rolled his eyes. "Please. I'm the first to admit I don't know a damned thing about Andraste, but I'm certain the Maker's Bride wouldn't begrudge one of Her best advocates a bit of pleasure and relaxation every now and again."

"Hawke." For a moment, Anders only stared at the other man, and then he barked a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m sure that She’d have some words with me for my methods of relaxation, but… I appreciate it. You might even be good for me, I think. A bit of outside perspective."

“Does that mean you’ll come over tonight?”

When Anders looked up, Hawke’s expression had split into a cocky grin, but the man’s lightheartedness at the situation made him frown. “Don’t push your luck. If you had nothing else, can you see yourself out? I have quite a lot of work to get done here.” He didn’t miss the way Hawke’s smile crumpled just a bit at the edges as he left the closet-cum-office, but couldn’t bring himself to call the man back.

* * *

Anders' mind wasn't on his work for the rest of the afternoon, and he left as soon as he was able to break away to meet Hawke at his home. He was still in a sour mood from both the hectic pace of the clinic and the argument with Hawke, left feeling guilty from his accusations against the man, and frustrated with his own weakness and desires. Anders' life had taken a drastic turn just a few months ago, and though it had been a mistake to start down this path with Hawke, he was already too far gone to turn back, even if he'd wanted to.

But Anders was done trying to reconcile his warring emotions for the evening; for now, all he wanted to do was see Hawke, apologize for his words, and try desperately to ignore everything else in the world for a while. He swallowed his shame and knocked on Hawke's door, afraid for a brief moment that the man might not want to see him.

The relief on Hawke's face was palpable when he opened the door to see Anders standing there. He'd made the offer, but hadn't been quite certain the priest would take him up on it, not if he actually meant what he had said, that Hawke was using him for his fantasies. And the thought that he might be doing that subconsciously sank bitter in his throat - he'd never had a relationship last long, after all.

Hawke tried to rein in his emotions, keep them from playing obviously on his face, but his smile was too wide, his expression a bit too desperate. He stepped back, inviting Anders in, not trusting his voice for the moment.

Hawke's expression soothed Anders, and some of the tension he'd been holding loosened, but he was still apprehensive as he entered the man's home. Hawke closed the door and waited expectantly, and Anders hoped he sounded more steady than he felt. "I owe you an apology, Hawke," he said. "What I said earlier wasn't fair, and I shouldn't have taken my frustrations out on you. I'm sorry."

An incredulous laugh barked out before Hawke could stop it. "You're sorry? I'm the one who - I did this all wrong, Anders." He glanced at the priest's collar, holding back the already-ingrained urge to call him "Father" - utterly inappropriate at the moment - and raked a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to give you the impression I was... using you."

Why did that thought twist in his gut? Certainly he'd used people before; they'd used each other, taking a bit of mutual pleasure and never seeing each other again. But Anders he'd pursued, flirted, _wanted_ , in a way he hadn't since that ill-advised venture with his professor. He didn't want a quick fuck with someone who wasn’t looking for the same thing, and the thought of this thing with Anders being a "quick fuck," despite them not nearly reaching that level yet... Hawke didn't want this to be short-lived.

Anders shook his head, trying to form his complicated thoughts into words, beating back his emotional response to Hawke's reassurance. "Everything about this is _wrong_ , Hawke," he said, with an embarrassed huff. "But that doesn't excuse what was said, nor my apprehension towards your attentions. It wasn't your fault. This is all just... it's overwhelming." He hoped that would suffice as an explanation, because he refused to burden Hawke further with his inner struggles.

Hawke chewed on his lip, watching Anders, normally so confident and self-assured, fidget in his front hallway. He didn't want to get into the argument of whether their relationship was wrong or not, not when Anders looked liable to talk himself out of it.

"May I touch you?" Hawke asked softly, raising a hand, and at Anders' reluctant nod, reached out to grasp the little white inset in the collar of his shirt. He pulled it back slowly, the plastic sliding easily against stiff fabric, holding Anders' gaze deliberately as it sprung free.

"We don't need this," Hawke explained, as if that explained anything at all. "You can set it aside for a minute."

It was such a simple action on Hawke's part, casually removing the white collar of Anders' station and casting it aside, but it felt like so much more. Hawke was making a point; he wanted Anders regardless of what he was, and alongside that comment urging Anders to let go, it was everything the priest needed. He just wanted this right now, wanted _Hawke_ , without the fear and the guilt and the hesitations. _Just for a little while,_ he pleaded, whether to himself or the Maker, he wasn't sure. _Let me pretend I can have this._

Anders reached for the other man, closing the distance between them, fingers running across Hawke's bearded jaw and pulling him in for a kiss that made him ache, hoping to convey what he could in actions, instead of words.

A quiet, needy sound caught in Hawke's throat, and the piece of plastic fluttered to the ground as his hands automatically grasped Anders' wrists. It wasn't enough, though, not with the argument and the guilt and the uncertainty hanging over their heads, and his hands slid further, open-palmed up Anders' arms to clutch at his shoulders, then down to his waist when he wasn't stopped. Hawke's hands lingered there, carefully not going further, thumbs circling and smoothing over fabric while Anders kissed him breathless and panting.

It had been so long since he'd been touched like this that Anders let out a quiet moan at just the feel of Hawke's arms around him, sliding his hands to the back of Hawke's neck and holding him close, refusing to break away for air and never wanting it to stop. He dimly remembered their position relative to the room, and carefully began to guide Hawke backwards.

Hardly aware of what Anders was doing at first, Hawke let out a grunt of surprise as his knees hit the edge of the couch, dumping him backwards unceremoniously. He blinked there for a second before grinning insouciantly up at the priest still standing over him, spreading his arms in wordless invitation.

Anders' heart raced, half-hard from desire and determined to ignore the protest in his mind as he sank onto the couch, straddling Hawke's lap but so carefully keeping his hips back. He pinned Hawke’s shoulders to the plush fabric as he leaned forward, kissing across the man's jaw and down his neck, tugging at Hawke's shirt to graze his teeth along the exposed edge of his collarbone.

Hawke’s hands tentatively touched him again, not pulling him closer but still eager, fingers sliding dangerously lower until Anders broke away with a gasp and Hawke froze, looking at him worriedly.

"No, just..." Anders repositioned Hawke's arms higher to rest around his waist, and favoured him with a smile. "Like this, yes. That’s perfect."

A bit giddy at finally being allowed this sort of intimacy, Hawke waggled his eyebrows irreverently. "Perfect, am I?"

"Yes," Anders laughed, eyes crinkling. "A perfect brat."

Hawke hummed happily, and then gasped as Anders returned lips to his collarbone. He needed badly to press upward, to pull their bodies flush together and push this contact further, but only curled his fingers in the waistband of Anders' trousers, anchoring himself so he wouldn't stray. The slow burn of arousal pulsed in his nerves as he shifted on the couch, offering his neck.

Anders sucked a mark onto Hawke's collarbone, keenly aware of where Hawke's hands were resting and how tempting it was to just let those hands roam wherever they wanted. His mind conjured sordid images of all the things he wanted to do to Hawke instead, the ways he'd make Hawke scream and beg and whimper, but none of them seemed adequate to soothe the raw emotion that still lingered. Anders needed this closeness, needed it more than he'd ever admit, and as a plan formed in his mind he caught Hawke's lips again, cupping the man's jaw and tracing his nails across the back of Hawke's neck.

Hawke arched into the sensitive scrape, mind quickly emptying of everything other than Anders' body heat and that tiny, significant space still separating them. Fingers tightened where they clung above Anders' ass, and Hawke tried desperately to remember why he wasn't supposed to move them, groaning as the priest's tongue slid wetly against his teeth, tasting and exploring.

The feel of Hawke's arms around him and the muffled groan against his mouth made Anders more desperate, more willing to overlook his initial hesitations. Dimly reasoning to himself that they were both clothed and surely, surely this was still within his vows as long as he didn't touch Hawke's heated skin, Anders clung to the man as he finally sank down, closing the gap between them, gasping against Hawke's lips at the sweet pressure against his cock.

Such a simple progression shouldn't have had Hawke _whimpering_ into Anders' mouth, but there it was, a needy, desperate sound, and without thought he dragged the blond’s body closer, thrusting up against that perfect friction. Hawke tore away from the kiss, panting, laying his head back on the couch as he rolled their hips together, rutting in mindless pleasure.

"Oh, fuck," Anders breathed, the feeling of Hawke's hardness rubbing against Anders' own, even through their clothing, so gorgeous that his grip tightened on Hawke's shoulders, dizzy with need and the heat of Hawke's body pressed against him. He rocked his hips forward and caught Hawke's moan in another brief kiss, his teeth catching on the man's lower lip.

"You feel so good," the priest panted, voice slipping into a growl as Hawke whimpered and thrust against him, lips moving against Hawke's as he spoke, pressing their foreheads together. "You make me so fucking _crazy_ , I can't stand it. All I can think of are those fucking noises you make when you're desperate and what you look like when you come... fuck, Hawke, I want you so badly, I want to do so many awful things to you."

"Do them," Hawke begged, the words yanking at his spine, his cock, until he ground up helplessly, riding the high of pleasure. "Anything you want. Have I said that often enough? Anders, please, I need you. Ruin me, _break_ me."

Anders' hips stuttered against Hawke's, lust threatening to derail his plan in favor of grinding to release in Hawke's lap, and he forced himself to lean back and stop, eyes half-closed as he took steadying breaths. "I will," he said darkly, smirking. "But not tonight." His thumb grazed along Hawke's cheekbone, and he summoned the willpower to stand from the couch and offer a hand. "Come with me."

It was a moment before Hawke could catch his breath enough to even attempt to stand, suddenly cold with the lack of Anders' body heat. But he smiled weakly and allowed the man to pull him up, hissing out a breath at the scrape of his jeans against his cock.

When Anders led him by the hand down the hall and into his bedroom, Hawke glanced at the bed hopefully, but was instead situated in front of the full-length mirror bolted to the wall. He met the reflection of Anders' eyes over his shoulder, the scant inches of height difference obvious like this, and licked his lips, wondering just what the man had in mind.

"You're going to do exactly as I say," Anders purred against Hawke's ear, stepping close but not quite close enough, smirking as he was reminded of their encounter in the Chantry office two weeks ago. He brought his hands to Hawke's shoulders, just gripping for a moment before sliding them slowly down Hawke's strong arms, feeling the curve of his muscles as he went. "And I'm going to touch you everywhere, through your clothing, while you watch."

"Everywhere?" Hawke asked with a shiver, gaze fixed to Anders' wandering hands in the mirror. A note of challenge entered his voice when he added, "I don't know how much I believe that."

Anders' hands slid from Hawke's arms to grip his hips tightly. "You don't have to believe, you have to _obey_ ," he hissed, running his hands up Hawke's sides slowly, the man's shirt soft against his palms. "Watch, and don't speak."

Fingers traced over every inch of the solid, defined muscles across Hawke's chest before grazing over his hard nipples. Anders felt the man's gasp against his chest as he slowly circled the skin around them, pinching lightly and tugging at the rings before dragging his nails down Hawke's chest to his stomach.

Hawke found himself getting fully hard again very quickly; the priest had never done _this_ to him before, had hardly actually touched him, and he closed his eyes to drink in the sensation until there was a sharp pinch against his side, reminding him he was supposed to be watching. He caught the sight of Anders' long fingers wrinkling the shirt over his stomach, and had already opened his mouth to say something about removing it when he recalled himself.

Anders teased across Hawke's navel through the fabric, Hawke's eyes widening in the mirror as he inched lower, before veering back across Hawke's waist to his back. He chuckled at Hawke's disappointed noise, rubbing his fingers up the man's spine, pulling his collar down so Anders' mouth could latch on to the back of his neck, worrying the skin as his hands roamed.

After such gentle touches, the sudden sharpness made Hawke cry out, and he reached out blindly to steady himself on the wall, staring at Anders in the mirror. He desperately wanted to take his shirt off, to feel that warm skin against his own, but the priest obviously just wanted him to endure, trailing fingertips just enough to tease and bring all his attention to them. Whether this was a punishment or a reward, Hawke couldn't tell, but he grit his teeth and whined with impatience when Anders' hands dipped lower again, sliding around his sides on a deceptively innocuous path.

"So greedy," Anders scolded, placing a kiss over the mark he'd left. "Surely you can't blame me for this. You're gorgeous, and you know it." His fingers brushed the edge of Hawke's shirt, pulling it up but not letting himself touch skin, his tone heady in Hawke's ear. "I'd touch you for hours if I could, just run my hands all over your body until you begged me for more."

His fingers finally drifted lower, skirting around Hawke's waistband, resisting the urge to grab Hawke's belt loops and pull the man's ass back against him. Hands slid down Hawke's hips, tracing circles against Hawke's hipbones, and then Anders brought his hands across Hawke's ass, squeezing gently and running teasing fingers across his cheeks. "And then I'd do the same with my mouth, taste you and mark you everywhere," he purred.

Hawke couldn't help arching into Anders' hands, gasping at the feel of them on his ass, wanting to say something, to demand more, to beg for _yes, that_ , but Anders had told him not to speak, so all that he allowed himself was another whimper, face screwing up into a pleading expression as he met Anders' gaze in the mirror. _More_ , he tried to say, with the look in his eyes, the part of his lips, the slight spreading of his legs, _yes, more, please._

Anders smirked over Hawke's shoulder, fingers sliding lower to brush the back of Hawke's legs, lightly trailing one up Hawke's jeans over his cleft. "You're doing so well," he said, moving his hands slowly, continually, until his fingers splayed across Hawke's strong thighs.

"But I love it when you beg, you do it so prettily." He teased closer to the obvious bulge in Hawke's jeans, thumbs sweeping across the curve of his hipbones, feeling Hawke arch forward against his hands. "Go on, Hawke. Tell me what you want."

"What I want, or what I think you’ll actually give me?" Hawke asked breathlessly, arms trembling against the wall. His eyes fell shut as he imagined his words come to life. "I want your fingers inside me, your hand around me. Fuck, Anders. Fill me up, spank me, don't let me come and make me _sit_ on my bruised, stretched ass while you fuck my face and slide into my throat." Hawke made deliberate eye contact then, rolling his hips into Anders' hands, letting the priest see the raw need written on his expression.

Anders dug his nails into Hawke's thighs, letting a low groan slip out. "Last time you came all over yourself when I spanked you," he purred. "I think we'll need to get you a cock ring to make sure that doesn't happen again, hmm? I want you hard and desperate and _aching_ for it."

The priest gripped Hawke's hip with one hand, the other still teasingly close. "You looked so good with your ass up, bent over your desk while I turned it red with my hand. You made the most lovely noises for me. Next time I think I'll spank you until your voice is wrecked and you can't even beg me to stop," he murmured. He let the tip of his finger trace across Hawke's clothed cock, firm enough to be felt clearly through the denim, watching Hawke's face in the mirror as he did.

It was shameful, the noise that tore out of Hawke's throat at that one simple touch, hands curling into fists. All the weeks this had been happening, he'd only felt his own hand there, and his hard cock jumped noticeably, thickening while Anders' fingertip trailed along it. "Please, yes," he panted, "oh - Maker, please touch me, tell me how to earn that."

"If that was all it took," Anders said, "you'd have earned it by now. You know it's not that simple, Hawke. As much as we both want otherwise." Reluctantly, he moved his hand away, sliding them both up to Hawke's stomach, rubbing slow circles with his fingers. "But that doesn't mean I can't tell you everything I wish I could do to you, does it?" he said with a dark smile. "Undo your jeans and let me see your cock."

"Yes," Hawke choked out, near overbalancing as his hands flew to obey. He groaned as his hands touched too-hot flesh, and he couldn't resist stroking himself as he pulled his cock out, smearing the precum he found over the head and down the taut skin of his shaft.

"Did I say you could do that?" Hawke made a desperate noise, hands stilling. "Good. Maker, look at you, you're so hard and wet for me already," Anders breathed, his own arousal painfully constricted inside his trousers - but he could wait.

His fingers stroked lazily across Hawke's hips and abdomen. "I wish I could touch you and tease your cock until you screamed, but you'll have to do that for me." He met Hawke's eyes in the mirror. "Now wrap your hand around yourself and stroke, slowly."

Hawke’s head tilted back in pleasure as he obeyed, but it was agonizing to keep the slow pace Anders nudged him towards with whispers and gentle touches to his wrist, so close to where he wanted the man's fingers to be, and he was soon panting, squeezing himself hard on every upstroke.

"That's it. Good boy. You're being so good for me, obeying me so well," Anders murmured, watching raptly as Hawke touched himself. He gripped Hawke’s wrist, feeling the flex of muscle under his fingers, carefully holding back from actually touching the man's cock, no matter how much he wanted to. His other hand toyed with Hawke's nipple rings through his shirt, rubbing and tugging one and then the other in time with Hawke's hand. "I want you to fall apart for me like this, nice and slow."

Hawke made a plaintive noise, and Anders withdrew his hand from the man's wrist to cup his cheek, tilting his head back for a languid kiss and pressing his body forward, just a little, just enough to feel Hawke's legs tremble with need. The kiss broke as Hawke's breathing stuttered, and Anders' hand slid down Hawke's jaw, slowly, fingers trailing across the man's neck.

Anders met Hawke's eyes and let his hand rest against his throat, feeling the startled intake of breath vibrate against his palm. Hawke’s hips jerked, his eyes wide and pleading where they fixed on Anders' hand around his throat, and a beautiful whine escaped his lips. With a slow smile, the priest's hand tightened, his grip more teasing than demanding, feeling Hawke's pounding pulse under his fingers.

"Harder," Hawke whispered, and Anders complied, the pressure around his throat not yet enough to restrict his breathing but an obvious threat. With the priest's other hand tugging on a nipple ring, Hawke moaned helplessly, and one more swipe of his thumb across the leaking tip had him stiffening in Anders' arms, painting the mirror with jerky streaks of spend.

Anders felt the shudder roll through Hawke's body as his fingers tightened around the man's throat, and that was almost hotter than watching Hawke come all over the mirror before them. With the man still reeling from his orgasm, it was easy to turn Hawke around and push him against the surface, Anders closing the space between them and capturing Hawke's mouth again as he fumbled with the fastening on his trousers. He slid his hand into his clothing, gripping his length and panting against Hawke's lips as he stroked himself.

Dizzy, aftershocks still sizzling his nerves, Hawke didn't think to resist - wouldn't have anyway - and when he felt Anders going for his own pleasure, so close they shared body heat, he groaned into the man's mouth. "Let me," he pleaded against Anders' lips, knowing it wouldn't happen but needing to say it nonetheless, "let me help you come, I want to taste you."

Anders' breath hitched at the words, his cock aching with need, knowing how easy it would be to push Hawke to his knees. The hand not working himself clenched against Hawke's shoulder as he panted. "Fuck," he growled, and bit Hawke's lower lip in desperation.

The sting made Hawke whimper, but he could have purred at the reaction he'd gotten. Wanting more, he brought his hands up to cup Anders' jaw, sliding out of the kiss until he could murmur into the priest's ear, "I wish you'd have me on my knees for you. Maker, but I want you inside me, every way I can. Fuck me, Anders, just imagine it, I'd be so tight for you, I’d squeeze around you, I'd scream and writhe just the way you like."

"Oh Maker, Hawke, I want that, I want that so badly, but I _can’t_ ," Anders hissed, his fingers squeezing around his length as he worked himself faster, releasing Hawke's shoulder to pound his fist against the wall in frustration. "You'd feel so fucking good, you'd be perfect, oh..." The vision of Hawke spread out before him, dripping with his cum and begging for more, made Anders almost sob as he spilled into his clothes, thrusting into his hand and against Hawke's hips, shaking with it.

"Gorgeous." Hawke nuzzled into Anders' hair while he trembled, feeling the soft exhaustion of good sex flood through him. No hesitation this time, as he wrapped his arms around the blond man, settling safely at his waist and no lower. For once, Hawke was the one doing the comforting, pressing soft kisses into Anders' jawline, humming with contentment while they came down from their highs.

Anders let himself relax into the affections while he caught his breath, worn out from the tension of the day and his intense orgasm, Hawke's heat and scent surrounding him and soothing him. Anders knew he shouldn't desire anything from the man, especially not _this_ , the sort of intimacy reserved for lovers. He’d had no objection to comforting Hawke after their previous sessions, but it was selfish to hope for anything for himself; Anders had agreed to a life of loneliness when he took his vows, but Maker help him, it was _nice_ to feel wanted.

The priest wiped his hand against his briefs, straightening but not pulling away, and Hawke's sated smile sparked a tightness in his chest. "A bit different than last time," he said, unsure of whether it was an apology or a comment.

Hawke smoothed his hands over Anders’ back, rolled his neck, stretched his spine to get more comfortable against the wall, as if he were settling in for a long while. “That’s not a bad thing,” he offered softly.

“No?” Anders smiled self-deprecatingly, and then sighed as he leaned into the touch. Just a little while longer. “Maker, I haven’t had this since…”

When the man didn’t continue, Hawke tilted his head curiously. “Since?”

Anders flushed, stiffened. “Nothing. Never mind.” He frowned at himself, then shook his head, stepping back. Hawke let him go reluctantly. “I should go.”

“What’s the rush?” With a pointed look down at their rumpled, stained clothing, Hawke raised an eyebrow. “You really wanna drive like that?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Anders muttered, attempting to straighten his trousers.

“You could use my shower.” At Anders’ startled look, Hawke held out his hands placatingly. “Not with me. I mean, not that I don’t want that. But I’ll just give you a towel and you can clean up, okay?”

Anders hesitated for a long time before smiling ruefully. “I could certainly use it,” he acceded.

He didn’t linger in Hawke’s bathroom, apprehensive again at how comfortable all of this familiarity between them was getting. Hawke was waiting in the kitchen when he emerged, and Anders gave in to the urge for a parting kiss before he left.

“See you at Mass, Father,” Hawke teased, and Anders didn’t bother to hide the grin that came alongside the roll of his eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

_I hold fast to your statutes, O Maker; do not let me be put to shame._  
_I run in the path of your commands, for you have set my heart free._  
_Trials 119:31_

 

Anders, of course, had left his collar at Hawke’s, didn’t realize it until the next morning when he was already late, and couldn’t find any of the spares that he’d stored somewhere in his apartment. He muttered under his breath about his own negligence the entire way through the Chantry and into the supply closet at the back of the parish offices. It took a few moments to dig out the little box of spare collar inserts, and when he straightened with one, he nearly backed into Sebastian, who frowned when he saw what Anders held.

“Good morning, brother. What’s wrong with your collar?”

Without time to make up a suitably pious excuse, Anders settled for a vague truth. “I lost it. Nothing special, it happens.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows raised. “You _lost_ the symbol of your station?” he asked, as if he’d spat in the face of Andraste.

“Spare me the lecture, please,” Anders said stiffly, lips thinning. “We’re to start Mass soon.”

“I don’t intend a lecture,” the other priest said plainly. “But you have seemed… distracted lately. Perhaps it’s starting to affect your work.”

A chill ran down Anders’ spine as he slipped the inset into place. He’d been nothing but careful while performing his duties, and he hadn’t even spoken to Hawke at the Chantry since they’d started meeting elsewhere. Had Sebastian actually noticed something out of the ordinary? He couldn’t afford that, especially not right now, when he was lobbying for additional funding for the clinic. “I apologize,” he said smoothly, giving Sebastian as diplomatic a smile as he could manage. “Of course I’ll try to focus more.”

As he ducked around Sebastian, Anders met Revered Mother Leliana standing just around the next corner, and hid his surprise with a respectful bow. She favoured him with a smile, and laid a hand on his arm after Sebastian passed them both. “Forgive me for overhearing, but I wanted to say that you’ve seemed happier lately, if anything. I promise your work here hasn’t suffered. Whatever you’ve changed seems to be good for you, my son.” 

She patted his arm and made her way down the hall, while Anders hoped his embarrassed blush would fade by the time service started.

* * *

Merrill called Anders during the day on Monday, an unusual occurrence. He stepped away from his Chantry duties for a moment, worrying that something was wrong with the clinic.

“There’s a repairman here for the heater!” Merrill exclaimed. “I wasn’t sure if you knew about it, but he said that it had already been paid for so we shouldn’t worry.”

Anders was stunned for a moment, trying to remember. Had Elthina actually listened to him and sent someone out? She’d never done that before; the Chantry preferred to send money, instead of any actual services, and have Anders deal with setting up appointments. “Well, I don’t remember, but…”

“Oh! And I looked outside in the donation bin, and there were all sorts of things in there this morning, like blankets and food! You’ll be so pleased when you come in!”

This was starting to sound too good to be true, and Anders wondered what the catch would be. Maybe the blankets were filthy, or the food only consisted of boxes of unlabeled, expired canned goods. “I’ll try and leave a bit early to check in,” he reassured the excited woman.

By the time he arrived at the clinic, Merrill and Lirene had sorted the donated items, and Anders was surprised to see the quality of what had been gifted: assorted coats, gloves, and blankets, all of them still sporting their original tags and packaging. The food was all non-perishable, and included a variety of canned and boxed goods. Whoever had left the items had spent a few hundred, at least, and Anders could hardly believe it; it had been a long time since they’d had such a generous donation. 

“Isn’t it lovely?” Merrill asked happily, and even Lirene was in good spirits as she put away the food. “I wonder who did it! Maybe it was that man!”

“Excuse me?” Anders paused.

“You know, the one you were giving a tour to the other day! He did seem very interested, and he was _very_ attractive, my goodness.” Merrill saw the startled look Anders was giving her and smiled apologetically. “I should probably shut up now, shouldn’t I?”

The repairman had finished replacing the heater by the end of the day, and passed on a card for an associate who did charity work and would probably fix the peeling paint on the walls. “And this was completely covered? That’s incredibly generous of someone. Do you know who?” Anders asked, madly curious.

The man offered a shrug. “Not sure, the office handles all of that, I just get sent out to do the job. You might be able to find out from them.”

Merrill’s words came back to him as he filed the invoice away: could it have been Hawke who sent the repairman out? And the donations? It was too much of a coincidence for two separate people. But Anders hadn’t heard anything from Hawke all day. Surely the man would have said something, to let him know what was coming. Hawke was prideful, and he would certainly have let Anders know what he’d done, if only to get praise for it. But then, he’d been in the clinic, seemed upset about the state of it, and heard Anders complain about what they were lacking...

The more Anders thought about it, the more uncertain he became, and he decided he wouldn’t be ungrateful and ask Hawke directly. If the other man brought it up, though, he’d be sure to thank him properly, and he smirked to himself at the thought of what that thanks might entail.

* * *

**Monday**

> 1:10pm Hawke: _So you’ve done this a lot?_
> 
> 1:18pm Anders: _Done what, exactly?_
> 
> 1:20pm Hawke: _This whole dom thing. Scenes and shit_
> 
> 1:21pm Hawke: _I bet you had a lot more tools back in the day :D_
> 
> 1:23pm Anders: _Back in the day? I’m not that old!_
> 
> 1:26pm Anders: _But yes, I do miss a few things. I used to dress the part, you know. Boots and everything._
> 
> 1:27pm Hawke: _You wore boots?? Like big leather combat boots and shit??_
> 
> 1:40pm Anders: _Something like that, not nearly so rugged. Black leather, heels, very elegant._
> 
> 1:42pm Hawke: _FUCK_  
> 

* * *

After that wonderful mental image, Hawke had spent a few days looking for what he considered the perfect pair of boots. What he ended up with was knee-high, black, leather; not too feminine but heeled, with long laces and inbuilt spats that flared out enticingly and gave them a wicked silhouette. They were even more gorgeous when he imagined Anders standing over him in them. He couldn’t resist.

When the priest showed up that Wednesday, as was becoming their habit, Hawke asked him to wait in his bedroom and eagerly brought the boots out, expecting Anders to enjoy them just as much as he did - after all, Anders _had_ said he missed looking the part. Hawke was nearly bouncing on his toes when he asked, "What do you think?"

Anders blinked, his gaze darting between Hawke's eager expression and the offered boots, caught between wanting to examine them closer and his startled confusion at Hawke spending money on him. "You... why did you buy me footwear? You want me to wear these? How much did they _cost_?" There was no way those boots were cheap - Anders could tell that just by looking at them - and even if Hawke had money lying around to burn, he was apprehensive about accepting gifts when the money could be better spent on something else.

Hawke's smile faltered a bit at Anders' hesitation. "You... said you missed it. The look, the boots. I thought... they should fit. I noticed your shoes when you were in the shower." He flushed, suddenly embarrassed. It hadn't occurred to him to be embarrassed before, just excited that he could be the one to give Anders something, for once, even if it was only a physical gift.

"You noticed my shoes," Anders repeated, eyebrows raised. It was true, he had missed ‘looking the part’ in their sessions, as he had been in the habit of all those years ago, but he'd never expected Hawke to actually take initiative and do something about it. Then again, he thought with a smirk, Hawke had done nothing _but_ take initiative since Anders met him, so perhaps it wasn't too far out of the realm of belief. And he had to admit that he felt a bit charmed that Hawke had done this, despite the more logical part of his mind arguing against the expense.

Anders took the boots from Hawke and looked them over, hesitation slowly making way for excitement. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to try them on, I suppose," he said, and took a seat on Hawke's bed.

"You like them then?" The smile bloomed again on Hawke's face, and he dropped to his knees at Anders' feet. "Let me?" Before the man could respond, he was already reaching out, pulling Anders' dress shoe off carefully and loosening the boot's laces until he could slide it on and up his calf, over his close-cut trousers.

"Well, they do look nice..." Anders started to say, then faltered when Hawke sank to the floor to put them on for him, without even being asked or ordered. The leather fit snugly against Anders' calf and foot, but wasn't uncomfortable. Hawke's fingers tightened the laces, and the man was already looking impatient, even before anything had begun. "At least you certainly like them," the blond said with a laugh.

"I like them very much." The glance that Hawke sent up from the floor was heated, and Anders shivered. Then he moved on to the other boot, adding casually, "I wouldn't have bought them if I didn't like them. This isn't _all_ selfless." He was silent for a few moments, as he finished settling Anders' feet in the boots, running his hands along their soft texture perhaps a little more than was necessary.

Finally laced, tightened and tied, Hawke sat back to admire his work, a hand on either calf, just smoothing over the leather. Then he leaned forward impulsively, only a quick flick of his eyes up at Anders to check the priest's reaction, and ran his tongue slowly along the top of the boot encasing his right calf.

Anders could feel Hawke's hands through the material, and he idly wondered how they'd feel against his bare skin. But when Hawke leaned forward and licked the leather, his eyes widened, the spike of lust that coursed through him automatically bringing him into his headspace, and he fisted a hand in Hawke's dark hair, pulling his head back and glaring down at the man. "Did I say you could do that?" he asked darkly. "Ask me for permission."

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The sharp tug coiled in Hawke's gut, and he whimpered, hands tightening on Anders' calves as he stared upward. "Please," he begged obediently, mouth dry, "please let me touch your boots. You're so gorgeous in them. I want to feel you under my tongue."

The priest’s heart beat faster as he looked down at Hawke for a long moment, pretending to consider, before releasing Hawke's hair and getting to his feet, the subtle adjustment to his balance to compensate for the heels of the boots coming naturally from memory. He stepped to the side and walked around Hawke, feeling the man's eyes fixed on him, and stopped a few feet away, glaring down. "Go on, then."

Hawke watched hungrily as Anders moved, breath coming harder already. As good as he'd imagined the man would look, the reality was far better, especially with the white collar present, and he was absurdly pleased he'd followed his impulse and hunted down these boots.

When Anders finally gave him permission, Hawke surged forward on his knees, wrapping his hands around those leather-clad calves again, bringing his lips to the smooth, black surface. He laved his tongue down one booted calf, worshiping it with his mouth, fingers digging in with a shudder as he felt the body heat already radiating through them and imagined peeling the boots off again, pressing his mouth to skin instead.

Anders had never before been this aroused from such wanton appreciation, and watching Hawke's lips and tongue move across the leather evoked thoughts of what else Hawke could do with his sinful mouth. He allowed Hawke to move to his other boot and deliver the same attention for a few moments, then grabbed Hawke's hair again to pull him back, not missing the way the man's eyes eagerly went to the impression of Anders' stiff length where it strained his trousers. Long fingers stroked through Hawke's hair before releasing him and nudging the man's thighs apart with his foot.

"Take off your shirt and put your hands behind your back," the priest ordered.

Eager to obey, Hawke fumbled with his shirt for far longer than he wanted, finally tossing it into a corner, showing none of the care he'd taken with Anders' shoes. He arched his chest forward obviously as he settled back onto his knees, crossing his arms behind him and pushing more than was comfortable until he could grasp either elbow - probably further than Anders wanted, but Hawke was aiming to show off a little. Looking up through his lashes with false shyness, Hawke asked, "Anything else, Father?"

"Oh, there's more," Anders said, "but I haven't quite decided what to do with you yet." He took a moment to balance himself, then raised his right foot to Hawke's thigh, resting the boot against the man's denim-clad leg. "And I'm feeling generous, because you've bought me such a nice gift. Do you have any suggestions?"

Hawke took in a shaky breath at the pressure, unaware such a thing could make him _harder_. His mind raced, trying to find something Anders would actually be willing to do, as opposed to the vivid images running through his head of flesh against flesh, or the darker thread of _punishment_ underneath. "You could press that boot somewhere better," he finally murmured, inching his legs further apart to show what he meant.

Anders raised his eyebrow, sliding the toe of his boot across Hawke's thigh. He was wary about hurting the man, though, and braced a hand against the dresser to steady himself as he placed his boot over the crotch of Hawke's jeans. "Like this?"

With a hiss of pleasure, Hawke tilted his head back, pressure a sweet burn he could hardly keep himself from rutting against. "Yes," he whispered roughly, and with his eyes closed, more words came tumbling out before he could stop them. "Oh, please - punish me, Father, I deserve it."

"Do you?" Anders pressed down a bit harder, watching Hawke's face for any discomfort. "What shall I punish you for?"

Hawke curled forward with a thin whine, hips bucking once before he forced them into stillness. "For - leading you into this," he choked out, and felt the pressure ease up a bit. "For pushing and pushing when I knew I shouldn't." He kept his face downturned, eyes squeezed shut; he hadn't meant to say such things, to air the worry and the guilt he'd been pushing back, but something about Anders made Hawke want to turn his soul inside out.

Arousal subsided in the wake of Hawke's admission, and Anders frowned; he'd never wanted to push his own uncertainties onto Hawke and make the man feel guilty about what they were doing. "Stand up," he said gently, removing his boot. Hawke complied, but didn't meet his gaze until Anders tipped his chin up with gentle fingers. "Perhaps you did lead me into this, but you led me willingly. I've made the choices that brought me here, and I won't punish you for them."

He kissed Hawke's forehead and stepped back, letting his fingers trail across the man's jaw. "Take your clothes off for me. I want to see you."

Hawke shivered when Anders pulled away, and a lump in his throat kept him quiet as he pulled off the rest of his clothing. Still, his misstep hadn't seemed to put Anders off too much, and he let his eyes trail appreciatively over the priest's imposing form while he worked. When he finally stood naked, Hawke dared to ask, "Will you still punish me?" An echo of a smile flashed as he met Anders' gaze and added sweetly, "Because you want to?"

"Not tonight. Perhaps later." Anders walked around Hawke again as he thought for a moment. "Close the door and stand with your back against it."

As Hawke obeyed, Anders went to the open chest next to Hawke's bed, looking over the items and contemplating which to use on the man.

The wood of his bedroom door was chilly against his backside, and Hawke shifted uncomfortably, eyeing Anders and wondering what the man was thinking. He couldn't keep quiet for long, though, and asked, "See anything you like?"

"Perhaps. Are you impatient?" Anders replied, not looking at him. 

"Maybe." Hawke watched the priest move; he was taking an awfully long time to choose amongst such a small selection. Almost idly, he slid his hands over his own chest, catching a nipple ring between his fingers and toying with it. That felt good... and probably looked good, too. With a private little grin, Hawke tilted his head back against the door and began touching himself in earnest, gasping louder than he needed to as he tugged hard at both rings, and then ran one hand up his neck, nails scraping over his throat. He groaned, the other hand smoothing lower, over skin and body hair and the bones of his hips, and slipped a finger into his mouth to suck on it, finally lowering his gaze again to see how Anders was reacting.

The priest had glanced over at the first gasp and found that he couldn't look away, watching raptly as Hawke's hands roamed his body. He remembered the feel of Hawke's body heat through his clothing, restraining himself from touching the man's skin like he longed to, and he clenched his left hand, digging nails into his palm to control the urge. His other hand had been resting on the gag in Hawke's box of toys and he grasped it, standing but not moving forward, not yet. He wanted to let himself watch a moment longer.

The hungry way Anders watched him was encouraging, and Hawke moaned around the finger, swirling his tongue around it, his right hand toying with the hair on his thighs, inching closer. Thoroughly wet now, he let the finger slip out of his mouth, trace along his lip, and then go straight to a nipple, and as he pinched it hard, sending a jolt of pleasure down his spine, he arched against the door, legs spreading, hand splayed so close to his cock it would only take a twitch to wrap firmly around it.

Anders' thin line of control snapped and he stalked over to Hawke with a growl, dropping the gag at Hawke's feet and grabbing the man's wrists to pin them over his head, making him gasp. "Did I say you could touch yourself?" he growled, so close to Hawke that he could feel the shiver that ran through the man. Anders’ thumbs traced across Hawke's wrists, eyes determinedly focused on Hawke's, trying to ignore the heat and scent of his skin.

Hawke couldn't help arching up, chest heaving on the arousal that Anders evoked in him so _easily_ , and Anders' clothing brushed against his skin tauntingly. "Got bored," he panted, trying to press himself forward deliberately this time, to feel more than the tease of fabric. "I thought you might want a show."

And that thought was enticing, to have Hawke tease himself until he was begging Anders to let him come, but he wanted more. Anders wanted _everything_. He knew that was impossible, and Hawke's proximity and flushed expression wasn't making it easy to reason with himself over what he could and couldn't have.

His hands slid down Hawke's wrists, tentatively running across his forearms and the strong muscles of his arms. He could feel his restraint buckling; the man before him was beautiful and eager, naked and willing and breathing against his lips, and Maker help him but he just wanted to _touch_.

He hadn't been told explicitly, but Hawke kept his hands in place anyway as Anders released them, the faintest tremble in his arms. "Please," Hawke whispered, licking his lips as he watched Anders' face, the priest's aching want an obvious thing hanging between them. The height difference was more pronounced, this way, with Anders in those gorgeous heeled boots, but Hawke pressed upward gamely, brushing his mouth deliberately against the other man's. "Please touch me."

Hawke's breathless plea was irresistible, and Anders closed his eyes, mentally repeating a mantra of _it’s just touching_ as he gave Hawke a brief, hot kiss, then took a breath to center himself. "Stay still," he ordered, bending to retrieve the gag and present it to Hawke. "I'm going to gag you, and you're going to keep your hands on the doorframe above your head. Since you can't speak, you'll knock twice on the door if you want me to stop. Do you understand?"

" _Yes_." Hawke nodded so fast he grew dizzy - or maybe that was the anticipation. Anders did such lovely things to him, he couldn't imagine saying no. Reaching up, he gripped the edge of the doorway as instructed, grin wide and eager. "Finally had enough of my smart mouth?"

Anders smirked. "For now, though I'm sure you'll still be making plenty of noise for me." 

Hawke opened his mouth obediently for the device, and Anders pressed the ball between his teeth, stroked the thick leather pad covering his mouth, and fastened it behind his head. "Too tight?" he asked, and Hawke shook his head with an experimental grunt. Anders smoothed Hawke's hair back, letting his fingers trail across the man's neck. His eyes roamed Hawke's body for a moment before sighing to himself. "I can't make up my mind which side of you I prefer. You're gorgeous either way, but I'm quite fond of your ass. Turn around."

It was necessary Hawke release the doorframe to turn around, but he gripped it again as soon as he could, spreading his legs teasingly. He closed his eyes at the gentle touch to the back of his neck, and sighed as those fingers trailed along his shoulders. Skin. Finally. Not that they hadn't touched at all before, but Anders had always hesitated at the precipice of actually pressing hand to flesh like this. As the light touches continued down the muscles of his back, brushed along his spine, Hawke pressed his forehead to the door in front of him and practically purred in contentment.

Anders' fingers delicately traced every ridge of muscle across Hawke's back, and afterwards, he pressed his palms to Hawke's skin, sliding his hands down the man's back to his hips, coaxing soft noises and twitches of muscle from Hawke as he went. 

"You're so sensitive," Anders murmured against his ear. "I wonder how loud you'd be for me if I hadn't gagged you." Nails scratched teasingly up Hawke's back and across his shoulders, up along his arms and then back down to his hips, slowly, mixed with featherlight touches.

A muffled groan shuddered out of Hawke at the scrape of Anders' nails, as if to say, _I'll be loud even with the gag_. His hands flexed where they clutched at the doorframe, and he tilted his ass back encouragingly when Anders neared it, wordlessly begging for more.

Anders tutted and pinched Hawke's hip. "Stay still," he ordered, tracing patterns against Hawke's lower back. The priest was as eager as Hawke for those hands to continue their exploration, and when Anders finally brought his hands across Hawke's ass he bit his tongue to hold back a noise. He couldn't resist raking his nails over the rounded flesh, palming Hawke's ass and spreading his cheeks to glimpse every part of him.

"You're all mine like this, so lovely and on display, to do with as I wish." To emphasize the point, he raised his hand back and brought it down hard across Hawke's ass. "And you love it, don't you?"

As soon as Hawke had resolved to hold still and be _good_ , Anders ripped movement and sound from him with the sharp spike of pain, and one hand slipped off the doorframe with a stifled shout before he replaced it quickly. Hawke nodded frantically and braced his legs; the sudden impact after all that delicacy had startled him, but he'd be ready now, although he shivered as those hands returned to tracing gently over the curve of his ass.

"Good boy," Anders purred, giving him another few swats between soothing, light touches. He groped the reddened cheek, skin hot against his palm, trailing his fingers lightly up Hawke's spine and nipping at the faded bruise on the back of Hawke's neck. "Are you ready for more?" he asked coyly.

Hawke sucked in a breath when Anders spun him around firmly without waiting for a response, and it took a moment for him to resettle his hands, arms starting to ache from holding them above his head. He ignored it; the ache was nothing compared to too-gentle thumbs smoothing over his collarbone and starting their agonizingly slow journey again. A whimper sounded from behind the gag, and Hawke barely caught Anders' smirk before he closed his eyes again, head tipping back against the door.

Anders kept his eyes on Hawke's face as his hands moved across the man's chest, alternating light touches with the subtle scratch of his nails, fingers raking through the dark hair across Hawke's torso. He circled Hawke's nipples, teasing closer and closer before taking both rings and twisting them gently, rolling the nubs between his fingers and relishing Hawke's ragged breaths.

A request for "harder" tried to make it past Hawke's lips before he was forcibly reminded of the gag, and he simply groaned, trying to press his chest into Anders' hands. Those teasing fingers squeezed hard, once, and moved on far too quickly, and Hawke panted, thighs trembling, as they skimmed over his stomach, tugging on little curls of hair, nails raking lightly. Hawke's eyes widened as Anders' hands splayed across his hips, stroking the curve of his hipbones, and he pleaded as best he could with tiny whimpers and the motion of his body. _Yes, closer, there, please._

Anders' fingers lingered across Hawke's hipbones, his gaze falling to Hawke's straining cock. No matter how much he was tempted, he simply couldn't justify touching Hawke in that way, and he leaned closer, gripping Hawke's hips. "You don't know how much I want to tease your cock right now," he murmured. "I'd get you so hard and wet, rough strokes and gentle touches, until you're red and dripping with need and the slightest touch makes you sob." He favoured Hawke with a smirk, planting a quick kiss to the gag.

Hawke's hips rolled just at the thought, Anders' long fingers around his cock, _Maker_ he didn't think he could handle that, he'd come right then. With that thought lingering, he stared down at the priest dropping to his knees in front of him, visions of Anders taking him into his mouth flashing through his mind, and groaned helplessly behind the gag when the sharp points of Anders' nails dragged lines down his sensitive thighs.

Anders determinedly ignored Hawke’s erection as he sat back on his heels. He’d meant to continue his idle exploration down Hawke’s legs, but now that he was eye-level to the tempting line of Hawke’s hipbone, he couldn’t resist feeling it against his lips. _It’s just touching,_ Anders mentally repeated, running his tongue along his teeth. _Just kissing. Nothing more._

A gentle kiss on the point of his hip had Hawke's eyes flying wide, and he wrenched his gaze downward, disbelieving, in time to see Anders bare his teeth and rake them over the bone. His knees almost buckled as he gave a shuddering, muffled cry, clamping his hands down on the doorframe above him, that mouth so close to where he wanted it he could imagine he felt Anders' body heat radiating against his cock.

Sinking his teeth into the skin across Hawke's hipbone, Anders pinned him roughly to the door to keep Hawke's hips still as he sucked a harsh mark into his flesh. Anders' mind was fogged with the scent of the man's arousal, so close and tempting that his mouth watered at the thought of giving similar attention to Hawke's cock. Once he was satisfied with the size of the eventual bruise, Anders sat back on his heels, spreading his hands across Hawke's hips and adjusting his fingers, as if measuring. He looked up at Hawke's pleading expression and smiled. "I have to make sure you match," he explained, before bending to the man's other hip and latching his mouth across the skin.

Fingers scrabbled to keep their grip on the doorframe above him as Hawke let out a ragged cry and tried desperately to remain standing. His thighs trembled with the effort needed not to thrust forward and potentially push this too far, but oh, how he wanted much more than this, even as his cock jerked at the sensations.

And then Anders' mouth pulled off with a wet noise, and moved inward, and Hawke realized he was whining, deep in his throat, a wordless plea as he stared down his body at the man. Anders stopped just shy of his straining cock, and it twitched again as his hot breath washed over it, stoking the need coiling through Hawke's body. Anders smirked and slid his hands up the back of Hawke's thighs to dig into his ass, staying deliberately close, each word a breath of sensation across Hawke’s cock as he murmured, "Could you come like this? You've come untouched for me in the past, so beautifully. I wonder what it would take."

Hawke keened as Anders drew away, but the priest didn't go far, sinking his teeth into the flesh of Hawke's thigh as his fingers kneaded and pulled. Each nip and bite Anders planted, down one thigh and up the other, he followed with a stroke of his tongue and matched with a squeeze and tug of Hawke's ass, spreading him open. Hawke rolled his hips, tensed his thighs, imagined those gorgeous fingers buried deliciously inside him, stroking and working his prostate, and finally let out a loud, shattered noise around the gag, arching so hard he distantly heard the frame creak, cock jerking and pulsing as a wave of ecstasy rolled through him.

"Yes, that's it, you're so good for me," Anders purred against Hawke's skin as he felt his body shudder and convulse, the muffled noise Hawke made as he came making Anders' cock ache with need. He shifted back as he felt the warm wetness of Hawke's cum trailing across his shoulder and down his shirt, gripping Hawke's beautiful ass hard once more before rising to his feet.

"You've made a mess," he scolded, gently taking Hawke's arms and bringing them slowly down to his sides. Hawke was still dazed and panting as Anders' fingers undid the clasp of the gag and lifted it from his lips, casting it aside and wiping a trail of saliva from Hawke's chin. "You know what you need to do," the priest said, running a hand up the back of Hawke's neck to his scalp, guiding his head.

Too used to being silenced by the gag, Hawke didn't even try to say anything smart, just moved forward to mouth over the wet stains slowly leaking into Anders' shirt. The ache in his shoulders made him flinch, but he grasped the priest's shirt at the waist anyway, keeping himself steadied as he lapped his cum from the fabric, pressing harder than was necessary just to feel Anders' heat against his tongue.

As soon as the last streak disappeared into his mouth, Anders pulled Hawke off with the grip still in his hair and gave him an approving smile as he ordered implacably, "Get on your knees."

Hawke sunk down without a whisper of protest.

The boots added unnecessary but intimidating height, and Anders smiled approvingly down at Hawke’s reverent expression as his fingers unfastened his trousers. He pulled his aching cock free, stroking along the length slowly, keeping a safe distance but longing to press past Hawke's wet lips. "I want to come across your face. Beg for me. Let me hear you."

Hawke licked his lips, tasting the last of himself on them, and shivered when he imagined adding Anders' taste to his own. "I want that," he whispered, voice hoarse, teasing smile growing as he went on. "I want you to come down my _throat_ , but I'll accept my face if you must, because I want to taste you so badly. So please, Father, please give me your cum, and imagine my lips stretched around the base of your cock while you do it."

Hawke's words had Anders' hand pumping fast around his cock, slick fingers squeezing as he stared down at Hawke's eager expression. "Fuck, you cheeky brat," he cursed, mind already filled with luscious desires, but now imagining the feel of Hawke's hot, wet mouth enveloping him, the groan that he'd be able to feel through his cock as he pressed into Hawke's throat. He kept his gaze fixed on Hawke's lips, and when the man closed his eyes and extended his tongue as if waiting for sacrament, Anders' hips jerked, choking out a groan as he coated Hawke's face and tongue in his seed.

A breathy moan escaped Hawke as he licked his lips, the taste and scent of Anders intoxicating, and he brought his hand to his face to clean himself, licking the rest from his fingers and looking up at Anders’ dazed, enraptured expression. The priest took Hawke’s chin in his hand, pressing up to coax him to his feet, and he felt Anders’ pleased hum against his lips as he tasted himself on Hawke’s tongue.

Anders encouraged Hawke to sit on the bed, figuring they were already in the room, and there was no reason to move all the way out to the couch. He settled behind the other man, hooking an ankle over Hawke’s leg, and smiled at the nostalgic feeling of leather pressed against his calves as he began to rub Hawke’s shoulders firmly, drawing a blissful noise.

“I am grateful, don’t get me wrong,” Anders started, and Hawke snorted, “but you’ve been making quite a few purchases for me to use lately. It’s extravagant, unnecessary.”

“You know they’re for me, too, right?” Hawke tried to look over his shoulder, but gave it up as a bad idea and simply relaxed into the soothing massage. “I’ve been buying things for _us_ , not just you. There’s an ‘us’ now, you know.”

Those long, clever fingers stilled for only a second as Anders flushed, his pulse pounding in his ears, thankful Hawke couldn’t see him from that angle. “It’s awkward for me to accept such things,” he tried to explain, shaking his head. “Please don’t make a habit of it.”

Hawke grunted noncommittally. The money wasn’t an issue, but he wasn’t going to belabor the point at the moment. Then Anders was tugging insistently at him, and he blinked in surprise to be guided onto the bed proper, laying on his back with the priest pressed against his side, holding him loosely, close but not entwined. Hawke laid a hand hesitantly on Anders’ arm, quite suddenly aware of his own nakedness and Anders’ breath against his shoulder.

A few minutes of comfortable silence later, Hawke was certain their bodies had synced up completely, breathing in time, heartbeat slow and steady against Anders’ hand. It was almost a shock to hear Anders break the silence.

“Have you always been able to come untouched like that?”

Hawke choked, and then laughed, reaching up to rake a hand through his hair. “I suppose. Not exactly like _that_ , if you must know. I’m usually being _fucked_ at the time.”

“Mmm.” Anders gently pushed Hawke’s hand aside, replacing it with his own to stroke soothingly over his scalp. “I imagine most people don’t try to push hard enough. Someday you’ll have to tell me all about your daring exploits, I’m sure they’re fascinating.”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” The waggled eyebrows were ridiculous, just perfectly like Hawke, and Anders laughed into his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](http://un-shit-yourself.tumblr.com/post/137043204478/mevima-misanthropicmessiah-t%C3%A9o-ng-morka) is a link to the boots that Hawke purchased. You're welcome :D
> 
> And the artist for the [FUCKING AMAZING art](http://yoookissomuruschag.tumblr.com/post/139085467250/ey-ey-the-random-playlist-jumped-to-this-and) in this chapter is Xiiau. Wow. Thank you so much!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!

_But if ye bite and devour one another, take heed that ye be not consumed one of another._  
_Trials 5:15_

 

“You up for another round, gorgeous?”

The flirtatious smirk on Hawke’s face when he turned around, glass in hand, was automatic. The man at the bar, eyeing him with a knowing, hungry look, was vaguely familiar, and for a moment he was tempted; old habits died hard, and he suddenly had a distinct memory of this man’s fingers digging into his shoulder and the sharp taste of his cock. But then he remembered the possessive gleam in Anders’ eye, could even turn his head and see the priest at the other end of the bar tonight, and changed his grin to an apologetic shrug. “No, sorry,” he said simply, handing the man his drink.

The man raised it in salute and grinned wryly. “Missed that boat, eh? Too bad.” He took a sip, set it down, folded his arms on the bar. “Your mouth was _amazing_.”

Anders couldn’t hear the conversation from where he sat, but the way the stranger leered at Hawke made him scowl, and he took a drink to hide his expression while he watched Hawke’s reaction. When the bartender declined whatever was offered, the ambient conversation dimmed just enough for Anders to catch the other man’s parting comment as he walked away, and the priest flushed, half tempted to drag Hawke out of sight and give him another vivid, claiming mark on his neck.

“You know, I’ve heard that from _so_ many people,” Isabela purred as she came by with a tray of dirty plates. “Too bad you won’t let me verify that myself. Or even watch!”

Hawke wrinkled his nose at her, and she laughed, setting the tray on a back counter. He knew enough to anticipate the bar rag, by now, and twisted out of the way as Isabela tried to swat at his rump. She pouted when she missed.

“You’re no fun anymore, Hawke! I never catch you slacking off to the bathroom with some delicious hunk of a man. Instead you’re always on your phone. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten all proper on me now.” Her expression brightened, and she clapped her hands together excitedly. “Ooh! Do you have a _boyfriend_?”

With a roll of his eyes, Hawke folded his arms and leaned against the bar. “None of your business, Izzy.”

“You do!” she squealed excitedly. “He must be _really_ good for you to give up all that fucking around. Tell me about him!”

Anders watched the scene with a vague sense of trepidation, sipping at his cider, but when Hawke smirked mischievously and said, “Maybe I just found religion,” he choked on his drink, sputtering for a moment.

Varric snorted, and pointed out, “Even the good Father doesn’t believe _that_ , Hawke.”

Anders cleared his throat and set his glass down, catching Hawke’s embarrassed glance in his direction. Isabela was equally unconvinced. “I don’t buy that for a minute. Look at you, you’re blushing like a schoolgirl. You’re an adorable mess over this guy, aren’t you?” she cooed.

“I am not,” Hawke said determinedly, turning back to the counter.

“Remember that time you snapped the handle off a tap when you were checking your phone?” Varric added. “Because I do.”

“That was an accident! Accidents happen.”

“With you, they happen because you’re too busy thinking with your dick,” Isabela said. “We all know it.”

Hawke scoffed and bent down, reaching for a glass to fill another order, and Isabela took his distraction as an opportunity to creep forward and shove a hand into the back pocket of his jeans. The man let out a startled yelp and smacked at her hand, but she darted back out of reach and held his phone aloft triumphantly.

“Hah, it’s mine now!” she gloated, and dodged Hawke’s attempts to catch her as Anders felt his stomach sink.

“Izzy, don’t!” Hawke growled, and made another grab for her. She danced out of the way, lifting herself over the bar and running to the back room, cackling. Hawke pursued, but she slammed the door in his face, her laughter coming through the wood as he found the door locked.

“Ooh!” she called out. “Is he ‘Secret Boyfriend #5’? Hawke, you naughty boy! I want to know who the other four are!” Other patrons had caught onto the chaos now, and drifted closer to the bar counter, curious to see what the commotion was about.

Hawke pounded his fist against the door in frustration. “Izzy! This is theft! Give it back!” he yelled, his blood running cold as he tried to remember how far back he’d deleted Anders’ previous messages.

“Ahh!” Isabela screeched delightedly, laughter ringing out from behind the door. “Hawke, I had no idea you could beg so nicely! ‘Please let me touch myself, I want you so badly, I can’t stand it....’”

“For the love of the Maker, we have customers!” Varric roared, and Hawke’s head hit the door loudly, his face scarlet, trying his very hardest not to look at Anders.

The priest had a hand over his mouth, ostensibly due to the scandalous situation he was witnessing, but in reality frozen in his seat, terrified of what the woman could find on Hawke’s phone. At the very least he’d been smart enough not to use Anders’ _name_ as the contact, so the only thing he could do was wait and pray that Hawke had been smart enough to see to other measures of privacy.

With his waitress still giggling loudly, Varric stood from his usual perch at the counter and shooed away the patrons that had gathered. “Isabela, you have one minute before I let Hawke buy me a new door,” he shouted, patting his bartender’s arm and gesturing back to the counter. “Let her have her fun, it’s fine. You’re used to sharing your sex life with the world by now, aren’t you?”

“Oh yeah, right, this is totally fine,” Hawke replied, a panicked edge to his voice. “I love people going through my stuff. It’s my favourite.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll kick her ass for it,” Varric said consolingly.

“Yeah, sure,” Hawke said absently, despite that not being the issue in the slightest.

One of Anders’ hands still rested casually around his glass, but the other gripped the counter tightly, debating whether it would be safer for him to leave now, or if that would be too suspicious. Isabela was suddenly quiet, and Anders was about to subside, figuring that if there were anything incriminating to find, she’d have made a commotion about it by now, when his phone began buzzing in his pocket.

Thankfully, the ambient noise of the bar was too loud for the sound of the vibration to carry, but Anders startled at the feeling. Varric turned toward the movement, and the priest masked it by taking a drink and giving an exaggerated sigh. “The quality of this establishment just continues to improve,” he said dryly, desperately ignoring his phone and forcing his hands to relax on the bar. “I’m starting to think this place might need a blessing after all this sinful behaviour.” Had he ever set up a custom voicemail message? He suddenly couldn’t remember.

Hawke let out a choked laugh and caught Anders’ eye, trying to say what he couldn’t with his apologetic expression, easily excused as simple embarrassment to an onlooker.

It took more than a minute for Isabela to open the door, and she tossed Hawke’s phone to him with an exaggerated pout. “Your boyfriend is no fun, either. Just a generic voicemail, ‘You’ve reached this number, blah blah,’ nothing exciting at all.”

“You… you called him?” Hawke’s eyes widened.

“Of course I did, and I left him a message asking for all the sordid details on how he makes you beg.” She gave him a wink, caught Varric’s stern expression, then sighed. “Okay, fine, I’m sorry, Hawke. You’re just too fun to mess with, and you’re cute when you’re flustered. I had to know who’d calmed you down and congratulate him.”

“That’s not a great excuse,” Hawke grumbled, but sagged in relief. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Aww, that’s fine. I’ll make it up to you somehow. You want to read the naughty things I tell Kitten?”

“Eww.” Hawke made a face, and Varric gave a resigned sigh.

“Can we get back to work now, please?” he asked, gesturing towards the counter.

Anders waited a few more minutes for the situation to be put aside, pulled out his wallet, and set it behind his glass. When Hawke inevitably glanced in his direction, he tapped the counter and rose from the barstool, heading to the door.

He waited in the alley next to the bar for Hawke to arrive with the wallet he had pretended to forget, and pulled the man into the shadows, caught between wanting to laugh nervously and kiss Hawke senseless. “That was terrible. Maker, I can’t believe that happened.”

“Wasn’t it?” Hawke’s forehead rested against Anders’ shoulder, and he sighed. “I can’t believe nothing actually _happened_.”

“Thanks to you.” Anders gave in, wrapping his arms around Hawke’s shoulders, and pulled the man close, kissing his forehead. “ _Thank you_ ,” he said effusively. “Thank you for doing all those little things that saved our secret a little while longer.” Because it was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? He shivered, the feeling crawling up his spine that discovery was inevitable.

Hawke shrugged awkwardly, grinned dryly. “It’s not the first time I’ve been the secret.”

A tight feeling gripped the blond’s chest, and he swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he murmured miserably, but Hawke was already shaking his head.

“I don’t mind. Really. Hey.” Hawke reached up, turned Anders’ face from where he’d looked away. “It’s a fun game to keep it hidden, yeah? I understand why you need the secrecy, and it’s worth it to be able to have this relationship with you.”

Anders’ chuckle was a bit watery, and they both ignored it. “A relationship, is it? You did name me ‘Secret Boyfriend #5.’ Who _are_ the other four?”

Hawke raised an eyebrow, and then his right hand, waggling the four fingers there, and Anders choked on a real laugh, face reddening. “You’re impossible!” he objected.

“You say that a lot,” Hawke said. He stroked his thumb along Anders’ cheek, biting his lip. “I have to go back, before Varric gets more pissed than he already is. Can I have a kiss for good luck?”

“You can have a kiss for whatever you want,” Anders replied with a smirk.

He poured all of the frustration, terror, and relief of the night into the kiss, scraping his teeth along Hawke’s lower lip, plundering his mouth with his tongue until the man whimpered and clutched at him. When the priest finally pulled back, he licked his lips, trailing his gaze over the way Hawke’s pupils dilated, his swollen mouth, and the smirk returned. “Maybe you should take another minute before you go back inside.”

Hawke nodded shakily, and Anders smiled benevolently at him before he turned to leave.

* * *

Anders was mildly afraid to listen to Isabela’s scandalous message, so it wasn’t until the next day that he steeled himself to dial his voicemail number. And he nearly had a heart attack as her message opened with his name.

“Anders?! Oh, goodness, _Father_ , I bet you don’t even know what greeting you have, do you? It says your name and everything!” Isabela’s voice was quiet, but she was obviously holding back giggling. “It’s okay, I forget all the time myself. I think mine is something from Kitten being adorable.”

 _Maker save me_ , Anders thought desperately, not even daring to breathe.

“But anyway! Ooh, someone’s been naughty! I’ll keep your secret if you give me details!” A pause, as she laughed. “No, no, sweetling, I wouldn’t be that cruel. I’m glad you’ve found some way to relax for once! Your secret’s safe with me! But you should really change your message. You know, just in case someone pulls this who’s less of a softie. But if you ever feel like sharing those details...” Isabela laughed again, and the message ended.

Anders immediately dialed his voicemail settings, changed it to a generic greeting, and put his head in his hands. “Fuck,” he swore, then laughed weakly, vowing to have Hawke buy Isabela something nice for her discretion.

* * *

Anders' week felt like it was dragging, and by the time Tuesday night rolled around, he was antsy with the desire to see Hawke. There hadn't been much to do that evening at the Chantry to take his mind off of it, either, so he spent his nervous energy pacing the stone floors and reorganizing supplies. The large double doors closing sent a loud echo through the building while he was upstairs, and Anders quickly finished up what he had been working on.

The priest had made it to the landing when he heard the door sound again, and he wondered if the first parishioner had left. But, no, there was the scuffle of footsteps, and so he continued down the stairs.

“Madam Lusine,” Anders smiled, spreading his arms in welcome. “How can the Chantry help you tonight?”

"Good evening, Father," the grey-haired woman said. "Do you have time for a confession?"

"Of course," Anders said, and gestured for her to follow him. He glanced around the nave as he walked to the confessional booth, looking for whomever had come in before, but finding no one. Perhaps he'd only imagined hearing the door the first time.

The door to his section of the confessional was closed, and he scolded himself for not leaving it open as usual. He turned the handle and opened the narrow door, and it was only by the grace of the Maker that he stayed silent as he laid his eyes on Hawke. The man was sitting in the priest's seat, giving him a cocky grin with his hands folded in his lap.

 _Andraste's fucking grace_.

Anders had no time to react, keenly aware of how close Ms. Lusine was behind him, and squeezed into the booth, his eyes burning into Hawke’s. The man put a hand over his own mouth and stood up as Anders gestured frantically. A moment of hushed maneuvering, and Anders sat on the bench with Hawke kneeling at his feet.

_Fuck._

Hawke grinned up at Anders' shocked expression from his position on the floor, kneeling between the priest's legs. The two men barely fit into the dim, enclosed space, the confessional already slightly warm from their combined body heat, and Hawke's arms pressed against Anders' thighs, holding them apart. It was perfect, exactly the position he'd planned on when he snuck in, although he hadn't exactly thought through the parishioner settling themselves into the other side.

The words that came through the screen as the woman formally began her confession were muffled from Hawke's perspective, and he found himself glad; he'd much rather focus on the way he pressed just a little harder against Anders' spread legs when he breathed. He let his eyes roam over the man in front of him as he worked the tangled fabric of the cassock free between them, pulling it up to the priest's thighs, and dispelled the illusion that he was doing it to give himself more space when he toyed with the hem, freeing the first button.

Anders clenched his hands into fists, keeping his eyes closed and focusing on the woman's confession and framing the proper responses, and if his voice came out a bit edged, Ms. Lusine gave no sign. Mentally, he cursed all manner of things: himself for not pulling Hawke out by his ear like a bratty child, the foolish man for even putting him into this position, the confessional booth for being so cramped, his traitorous body for reacting to Hawke’s presence.

Hawke's warm hands against his body made him shiver, but Anders didn't stop him, afraid to even move lest the shifting clothing give something away to the innocent woman in the booth. When the priest felt the thick fabric of his robe part against his legs as it was unbuttoned, his eyes flew open to meet Hawke's falsely innocent expression. The man's fingers slowly slid higher, against Anders' lap, grazing over the next button while Hawke looked up at him with a smirk and a questioning eyebrow, hesitating, waiting for permission.

Anders’ gaze darted between Hawke’s face and his hands, and the fear mixed with the thrill of lust at what they were doing, at what Hawke intended to do, left the priest lightheaded. His eyes met Hawke’s, and he bit his lip and gripped the man's shoulder, digging his nails into his shirt, then gave a slight nod. The button popped out while the woman carried on speaking, with Anders praying to the Maker that he could remain stoic.

Tiny buttons pulled free of their holes, one by one, and Hawke closed his eyes with a deep breath at the pressure, almost pain, of Anders' nails scraping over his shoulder. He didn't stop his slow unpeeling until he reached Anders' hips, the cassock laying open around them, and his hands lingered on the priest's waistline. Just as Anders started an abortive motion to pull them away, Hawke dropped his hands himself, skating his fingers down Anders' inner thighs, feeling the slight tremor of his muscles.

With an inaudible sigh, Hawke pressed his cheek into Anders' knee, then turned his head and planted a kiss there instead, beard scratching over the dark trousers. His lips lingered for a moment, breathing a warm spot into the flesh underneath, and then his hands clenched on the priest's calves as Hawke began mouthing a slow, inevitable path up his thigh, the woman's voice drowned out by the blood rushing through his ears.

Anders was damned; he couldn't tell Hawke to stop, didn't _want_ Hawke to stop, the feel of the man's breath and lips through the fabric of his trousers delicious and so, so dangerous. The threat of them getting caught burned through Anders' mind, but it wasn't enough to stop the twist of lust that coiled in his spine, his cock hardening as Hawke's treacherous mouth moved higher on his thigh.

Ms. Lusine asked him for guidance, and Anders cleared his throat quietly, eyes falling shut as he dug his fingers harshly into Hawke's shoulder to hold him still, speaking carefully.

Instead of being discouraged, Hawke turned his head to the restraining fingers, mouthing over Anders' thumb and licking it into his mouth. His teeth scraped over the sensitive flesh, hands sliding up to press Anders' knees ever so slightly apart, and he grinned to hear the sharp intake of breath thread its way into the priest's words. The thumb jerked sharply out of his mouth, and Hawke would have laughed if he weren't trying so hard to stay silent.

Hawke's mouth returned to ghosting over the material of Anders' trousers, tugging at it with his teeth, but refrained from working higher until the man stopped talking.

Glaring down at the man between his legs, Anders covered the noise when Hawke bit at his clothing with a short cough and an apology. He held his breath, fingers weaving through Hawke's hair and pulling tightly; the woman sounded as if she was nearly done, and Anders didn't know how much more of this torture he could take.

Hawke breathed slowly and deliberately through his nose, eyes lidded, shifting his head just to feel the delicious tug on his scalp. His thumbs circled the fabric over Anders' knees, but he stayed otherwise obediently quiescent, only licking his lips as Anders concluded the confession properly. He jerked briefly against the hand in his hair when the confessional door closed with a soft click, but Anders held him still, eyes flashing a warning, until the heavy outer door of the Chantry sounded in the distance.

As soon as that hand loosened, Hawke tore out of his grip, pressing forward, sinking his teeth into Anders' thigh and only backing off when he heard the hiss from above him, kissing the spot in wordless apology. He moved up the priest's leg much faster this time, aware of the risk of discovery the longer this took, wrapping his arms around Anders' upper thighs to anchor himself as he pressed a kiss dangerously close to the arousal he could already _smell_ aching for him.

"Fuck," Anders swore, his voice nothing more than a heated whisper, but it still sounded loud in the confined space. The sting of Hawke's teeth against his thigh cleared his mind momentarily, enough for him to grip Hawke's forearms and chastise him for this madness.

"I can't fucking believe you, do you have any _idea_ what..." Anders' breath caught, a soft noise falling from his lips as Hawke's mouth pressed closer to his clothed erection, and his mind emptied of all other concerns. "Oh, Maker," Anders murmured, resisting the urge to let his head fall back and instead watching Hawke with dark, piercing eyes, wondering how far he would allow this to go, and suddenly fearful that he wouldn't have the willpower to stop it.

Hawke growled against Anders' trousers at the protest, wished he were growling into flesh, tightened his arms and moved an inch further, until he was breathing over the priest's cock, watching it jerk, restrained, as he imitated what Anders had done to him the week previous. "Then we'd better make this fast," he purred, tilted his head, and closed his mouth around the hard shaft.

The warmth of Hawke’s mouth, hot and damp, his breath through the fabric and the feel of his tongue dragging up Anders’ aching cock was so terribly, sinfully good. The _thump_ of the priest’s back impacting the confessional wall muffled the sharp moan that fell from his lips, and his left hand flew to his mouth while he twisted the fingers of his right into Hawke's hair, intending to pull the man back but holding him in place instead, forcing that hot mouth to stay right where he wanted it.

Anders _knew_ he should stop this, even as he tried to spread his thighs further, even as he choked a breath from behind his palm when Hawke met his eyes and lapped across the bulge in his trousers, but he couldn't. It had been far too long since he'd felt someone's touch, six years of only feeling his own hand, and even that intermittently until recently, that this felt amazingly beautiful.

Encouraged, grateful for the hand holding him in place, Hawke couldn't tear his eyes away from Anders' face, even as his lips traced the length of him, found the head, and bit down gently. His hands slid up Anders' thighs and over his belt, briefly considering tugging his shirt loose, but was too impatient, scraping his fingers up that too-skinny stomach under his cassock, over his shirt, and petting everything he could reach. It was the first time the priest had allowed Hawke to touch, and he was going to take as much advantage as he was allowed.

Hawke's fingers played across Anders' chest until he found small, tight nipples under the fabric, brushing his thumbs over both simultaneously. The trousers under his mouth grew wetter as he plied tongue and teeth and lips to evoke gasps and shudders; Hawke groaned softly at the jerk of Anders' cock, clenched his hands, and then reached for the priest’s waistband, knowing, _knowing_ the priest would stop that if nothing else, but wanting bare flesh too badly not to try.

The hand in Hawke's hair tightened, pulling him close, Anders' breath ragged through his nose as the man's hands wandered across his chest and stomach. He found himself shivering with need, praying that no one entered the Chantry and forced this to stop. Every movement of Hawke's mouth against his length was sweet agony, pleasure racing up his spine until he was softly groaning against his palm. Eager fingers tugged at his belt and Anders’ eyes widened, clinging to the last of his self-control, removing the hand from his mouth to slap at Hawke's hands, but just the threat of that hot mouth against his skin made his cock twitch hard.

"Don't stop," he rasped, grinding up against Hawke's lips.

There was no way Hawke was going to stop at this point, not unless it was necessary, and if Anders would rather soak his trousers, well. He would just have to make the most of the liberties he was allowed. Hawke slid his thumbs down either side of Anders' straining cock, placed a palm firmly across the base of him and rubbed gently up and down as he mouthed at the head again, reveling in its eager jerk, the way it swelled and twitched under his lips. Anders shuddered at the vibrations that ran through his cock at Hawke's hungry moan, and Hawke's hips rolled on nothing, wished desperately there was enough room in the cramped confessional to spread his legs, rub against the floor or Anders' leg or anything at all. He pressed in harshly with his lips in frustration, feeling hard, hot flesh compress, and slid his free hand between his thighs.

The heat of Hawke's palm and the delicious pressure against the head of his cock through the fabric had Anders nearly arching out of the seat, back pressed against the confessional wall as he rocked his hips against Hawke's mouth. He barely managed to cover his mouth before letting out a sob as he came, nails digging into his cheek and Hawke's scalp as the wood creaked behind him.

Hawke rode Anders' body as it writhed, pressing in as firmly as he dared, working his tongue over the fabric and groaning in pleasure as he felt the priest's cock engorge, jerk, _release_ under his attention, soaking the fabric until he could taste it. The scent of arousal filled him, body heat and the close confines and Anders' gorgeous reactions suffusing him until he couldn't help but grip his own achingly hard cock through his jeans, tilting his head back in ecstasy, a hand intimately on each of them.

Then Anders was pulling him up by his hair, to his feet, and Hawke gasped as he was pressed into the wall harshly, the hand he'd been touching himself with caught in a punishing grip.

The priest leaned in close, teeth bared as he hissed, "You know you don't get to touch yourself, not until I say so, _especially_ after this fucking stunt." His fingers tightened on Hawke's wrist, the thrill of his orgasm receding as he snapped back to the reality of their setting, anxiety and desire warring in his mind. "Coming into the Chantry and defiling the sanctity of this place with your actions? You wanted punishment before, and now you'll get it."

Anders released Hawke's hair and wrist, but still pinned the man with his body, growling into his ear. "Go home, undress, finger yourself until you're aching and send me the proof, and then _maybe_ if you beg me nicely enough, I'll let you come. And that's just for tonight." He bit Hawke's earlobe hard, drawing a whimper, then stepped away. Through the ornate open carving at the top of the door, he verified what he already knew - that the Chantry remained empty - and opened the confessional door so Hawke could leave while he composed himself.

[ ](http://eszaki-ugaron.tumblr.com/post/139435010929/this-was-a-disgustingly-hot-scene)

* * *

There was no thought of hesitation in Hawke’s mind when he got home, only an eager anticipation as he pulled out lube and tossed his phone onto the bed, stripping haphazardly along the way. He practically fell onto the mattress, bouncing once, and pulled up his phone to text a quick _I’m starting_ as he slid his hand down his thigh, angling for his softened cock.

Anders must have been waiting for him; the response was almost instant, and Hawke shivered as he read it. _Good boy._

He stroked his inner thighs, his stomach, his chest, relaxing, and then wrapped his fingers around himself. It didn’t take long to bring himself to hardness, light touches on the soft, dry skin as he thought about his mouth on Anders’ cock, so close to actually touching it he had been able to smell him, taste him through his trousers. Hawke’s mouth watered at the thought of doing it again, and his hand tightened on the head of his cock.

A groan slipped out as Hawke grabbed for the bottle of lube, smoothing the glide of his fingers over his length and coating the fingers of his other hand. Anders had instructed him to _finger himself until he was aching_ and he really didn’t think that would take long. He was already eager for it, and one finger was quickly not enough. He thrust a second finger inside himself, his other hand stroking along his slick length, mind replaying the events of the evening until he was desperately grinding down onto his hand, twitching against his own fingers.

He swore and wiped his hand on the sheets, grabbing his phone and taking a picture of his leaking cock and the fingers inside his ass one-handed.

 _Please let me come_ he sent with the image, then sat back and waited, moving his fingers restlessly and taking deep breaths.

 

> 8:47pm Anders: _You can do better than that._
> 
> 8:48pm Hawke: _Fuck please let me come please father_
> 
> 8:49pm Hawke: _I cant stop thinking of your cock and how fucking good you felt against my lips please_
> 
> 8:51pm Anders: _No._
> 
> 8:52pm Hawke: _Please fuck_
> 
> 8:53pm Hawke: _Im so hard and it feels so good and i fucking need it please please let me come please_
> 
> 8:54pm Hawke: _Please shit Anders please_

He waited another agonizing few minutes with no response before calling. Anders answered with, “I’m leaving now. What?”

“Please, fuck. Anders, please let me come, I can’t stand it.” His voice was breathless with need.

“You’ve begged better than that for me before, and you’re still on thin ice from your antics earlier.”

“ _Fuck_ please,” Hawke sobbed, stilling his fingers again. “I’ll do anything you want, please, just please let me come.”

There was a torturous pause on the other end. “Anything?” Anders asked, and Hawke whimpered in response.

“Yes, anything, please.”

Another pause, and Hawke heard what he suspected to be a car door shutting. “Put me on speakerphone, go to your chest, and get your dildo,” Anders said quietly. “I want you to fuck yourself with it until you come.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hawke moaned, scrambling off the bed to obey and clicking the option on his mobile. Grabbing the lube, he slicked the toy quickly and lay back, moving the phone closer to his head. The tip of the toy slid thickly into his ass and he made a low, desperate noise at the stretch, listening to Anders’ steady breathing over the line. “Thank you,” he said, absently.

“Don’t thank me yet. I expect you to come from just that.”

Hawke’s eyes flew open, and he whined plaintively as he worked the dildo further into himself. “Fuck, _please_ , I… I need more.”

“No, you don’t. You told me you could come untouched by being fucked, and now you’re going to prove it.”

Hawke’s head fell back on the bed and he grit his teeth, trying to thrust down onto the toy. “Oh, shit,” he moaned, rocking his hips in time with the movement of his hand. “Father, please.”

“You’re doing so good for me,” Anders said darkly, and Hawke could easily imagine the priest standing at the end of the bed, watching him while Hawke pleasured himself. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?”

“No, fuck no, I won’t,” he rasped, his hips arching. In his mind, Anders walked around the side of the bed, standing next to him and watching each thrust of the smooth dildo into his ass, petting Hawke’s hair as he fucked himself, and Hawke ran his own fingers through the dark, messy strands, biting back another noise.

“Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.” The priest’s voice was steady, and Hawke wondered what it would take to make Anders lose control, to get the same sort of desperate reaction that Anders could coax from Hawke so easily.

The slick sounds and Hawke’s harsh breathing sounded loud in his empty room, and he squeezed his eyes shut, rocking his hips harder onto the toy, angling it just right until there was a burst of sharp pleasure with every slide, resisting the urge to wrap his hand around his cock and gripping his hair tight instead. “Fuck, it feels so good, Anders, I wish you were here, I wish you were touching me, that you were the one doing this to me. I want you to fuck me so badly I fucking ache for it, you know how much I want that.” Hawke arched his hips, rolling them down in time with the movements of his hand, gasping into the still air as words spilled out helplessly. “I wish you were inside me, Maker, it’d be so good, oh fuck, I’d fucking come all over myself for you if you ordered me to. Anders, please, please, _fuck_...”

Hawke’s voice cracked as his thighs trembled, pace increasing to match his words, the image of Anders holding him down and pounding into him just enough to send him over the edge, and he came with a harsh noise, biting down on his lip as he coated his stomach. A shiver wracked his body as he finally lay limp on the bed, the toy still deep inside him, hearing Anders’ voice softly at the other end.

“That’s it, good boy, you did so well.” The words and tone were soothing, and Hawke whimpered and grabbed for the phone, turning off the speaker.

“Fuck, I know I should be sorry but I’m not, I wanted to see you and I just… I needed something. I won’t do it again.” Anders hadn’t asked him to apologize, but he still felt the need to. It had been reckless and stupid of him to sneak into the confessional, but he’d be damned if it hadn’t been worth it.

“You’re right, you won’t do it again,” Anders replied sharply, then let out a sigh. “We have to be careful, Hawke. You know better. We’ll talk more later.”

“I…” Hawke floundered momentarily, not wanting to let go of their connection just yet. “Is there anything else I should do?”

He could hear the smile in Anders’ voice when he said, “Send me another photo, and be ready for your penance; I’ll see you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [gorgeous artwork](http://eszaki-ugaron.tumblr.com/post/139435010929/this-was-a-disgustingly-hot-scene) for this chapter was done by Xiiau and when I saw it I nearly choked on my tongue. Absolutely perfect, my darling!


	16. Chapter 16

_How can we know You?_  
_In the turning of the seasons, in life and death,_  
_In the empty space where our hearts_  
_Hunger for a forgotten face?_  
_Trials 1:4_

 

When Anders showed up for his usual visit the next day, Hawke was as eager as usual to greet him, but the priest didn’t hand his coat over immediately. Instead, he smiled lightly as he said, “I don’t think you deserve to get off for a few days, do you?”

Hawke’s grin turned into a nervous swallow, abruptly reminded that he had been promised _punishment_ , and being guided through an orgasm without touching his cock probably didn’t quite qualify as such to Anders.

“I, uh.” He cleared his throat and tried his smile back on again. “Okay.”

Anders hovered just inside the doorway, stance a bit stiff. He’d wanted to come over anyway, to keep up the routine of their day together even if he didn’t plan on their normal activities, but now that he’d said as much, he wondered if Hawke would turn him away. It wasn’t as if he could blame the man for doing so. “Did you… still want me to stay?”

“Of course!” It hadn’t even occurred to Hawke to send Anders away, and he frowned at the implication that it was an option. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“No reason.” Anders’ smile was relieved, and he finally removed his coat to pass it over. “Shall we watch something? Or have dinner?”

“I could take you out to dinner!” Hawke suggested eagerly.

Anders pursed his lips, not wanting to break down that cheerful demeanor. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Why not? If it’s about the whole ‘spending money on you’ thing, you can forget that, because it’s just dinner.” Too busy being excited at the notion that Anders just wanted to _hang out with him_ , Hawke was already babbling. “Also, I’m not convinced you ever eat anything, you’re so thin; I could feel your ribs under your clothes, so don’t pretend otherwise.”

Anders huffed and cut Hawke off with a hand on his arm. “It’s not any of that, though for the record I _do_ eat, when I have the time. It’s just that… I’d worry that we were seen together.” Hawke’s smile faltered again, but the priest gave his bicep a reassuring squeeze. “But I’d like to have dinner. We could order in.”

Hawke smirked. “Like a date?”

Anders was too old to be blushing at the suggestion, he was certain of it. “Something like that, yes.”

Grinning, Hawke moved closer, until he and Anders were almost touching noses. “Do you want it to be a date? I might even put out, if you play your cards right.”

“Intolerable brat,” the priest said fondly, gripping Hawke’s shirt to pull him forward for a kiss. When Hawke tried to deepen it, Anders drew back, planting a tiny kiss on the man’s nose for good measure, and Hawke wrinkled it in response.

“There’s... something you should know, by the way,” Anders said reluctantly. He was loathe to bring it up, but Hawke needed to know. “When Isabela called last week, she didn’t just get a ‘generic’ voicemail greeting.” Hawke’s eyes widened at the implication, but Anders held up a hand to cut him off. “She promised she wouldn’t say anything.”

“How much do you trust Izzy’s promises?” Hawke asked with a frown. “I mean, she’s a bit… you know. Self-centered.”

“Wild,” Anders agreed, and shook his head. “We don’t have much of a choice, do we? She seemed genuine, if nothing else. And she found it amusing, and was glad I’d ‘found a way to relax,’ so... perhaps that’s enough of a reason for her to keep it secret.”

Hawke made a frustrated noise. “Well, shit. I’m sorry.”

The priest gave Hawke’s arm a consoling pat. “It isn’t your fault. It’s just something that we’ll have to be careful of.” He ignored the twist of anxiety in his chest; Isabela wasn’t cruel, but she was careless, and could easily let something slip.

After a short discussion, Hawke had ordered them both an array of Nevarran food from down the street, and Anders had settled himself comfortably onto the couch, flipping through the cable channels with mild interest. He opened his left arm in invitation when Hawke returned, and the man pressed happily into Anders’ side, the priest’s fingers already tangling in his hair.

The remote was set aside, television on a quiet movie, and Anders turned his head to breathe in Hawke’s scent. “I’ve been wondering something,” he started. Hawke made an inquisitive, happy noise. “Why do you bartend? You obviously don’t need the money.”

Hawke shrugged, eyes tracking the screen idly. “I’d get bored without a job. Wouldn’t you? I’m good at it, and you meet the most _interesting_ people.” He stroked Anders’ thigh, and pulled his hand back with a tiny, satisfied grin just as the priest reached out to stop him. “Okay, you asked one, now I get to.”

“What?” Anders laughed.

“Fair’s fair.” Hawke nodded firmly, and then tilted his head up at the blond. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Now that’s just rude!” the priest objected, putting a hand to his chest in mock offense.

“Hey, don’t you think I deserve to know how old the guy I’m fucking is?”

“I’m thirty. Practically an old man.” Eyeing the man snuggled up against him, Anders pursed his lips. “Speaking of deserving... “ Hawke took in a sharp breath as the priest’s fingers touched delicately to his windpipe, just massaging gently as he leaned in and purred, “You seem to like this quite a lot.”

A frantic nod, and Anders turned, shifting so he could put his hand around Hawke’s throat. “How _much_ do you like it, I wonder?” Hawke whimpered, tilting his head back in a desperate plea, and Anders rewarded him by clamping down viciously for just a second before he lightened up, hissing into his ear, “How far do you want this to go?”

“Please,” Hawke moaned, arching up into the touch, and Anders shook his head scoldingly.

“Please isn’t an answer, Hawke.” Fingers traced along the man’s neck, caressing the tender arteries to either side of his windpipe, and Anders sat up, pushing Hawke back against the sofa, his grip loose. “I can do it lightly, if that’s what you want, and I’d be happy to give that to you. But if you want anything more than a bit of pressure on your neck, you need to tell me _explicitly_ , because choking you is not a game.”

Hawke panted and licked his lips. “I want more. I want your hand around my throat, and I want you to cut off my air and make me dizzy with it.” Anders’ hand tightened, and the pressure had him gasping, his hips jerking upward. “Yes,” he whispered.

Anders smirked, loosening his grip and instead placing his hand over Hawke’s mouth. “What about this?” he asked, pinching Hawke’s nose shut with his thumb and almost laughing at how the man arched against the couch with an eager noise. “That’s good to know.”

“Fuck,” Hawke replied, once he could breathe, and he impulsively grabbed Anders’ shirt and pulled him close for a kiss, already half-hard just from the teasing. They were interrupted by the doorbell, and Hawke cursed again under his breath as he went to retrieve their food, leaving Anders chuckling on the couch.

Once they’d settled, takeout spread on the coffee table, Hawke asked, “So, my turn again?”

“If you wish.”

He eyed Anders, not knowing if this would be out of line, but too painfully curious not to pose the question. “Who was the last person you’d slept with, before me?” The priest’s hand stilled as he reached for a set of chopsticks, and Hawke quickly added, “It’s all right if you don’t want to answer.”

“No, it’s... fine. Just unexpected, though I suppose it shouldn’t be.” Anders sat back with his takeout container, not looking at Hawke. “I was with someone for a while, before I became a priest. His name was Karl, and we met at the end of that wild phase I’d told you about. He actually didn’t care for much of that sort of thing, so I ended up dropping it after meeting him. I dropped quite a few things, actually,” he said with a fond smile. “He helped straighten me out, get me back on a productive path. I’d even thought about going to school.”

Hawke listened silently, watching the wistful expression on Anders’ face as he continued. “We were together for a few years, and then he joined the military to work as a medic. Now that was an argument; I thought it was more important to help those in poverty, he thought he’d be of better use there. To cut a long story short, we broke up, he shipped out, and I lost my job the same week, so I ended up with nothing, not even a home. I figured it was time to do the work I’d always intended to, and I joined the Chantry.”

“You joined to have a place to live?” Hawke asked, and Anders gave him a wry look.

“I joined because I wanted to serve Andraste and help the poor, and the Chantry offered both of those. And yes, they offered me a place to live as well, that didn’t hurt. I don’t know if Karl would have approved, but it doesn’t matter now; we lost contact after he left, and I haven’t heard from him since.”

“You loved him.” Hawke blurted the statement without thinking. It wasn’t as if he could be jealous of someone in Anders’ past, but the way he spoke of Karl made him want that feeling for himself.

“I did,” Anders replied quietly. He smiled sadly to himself, his gaze distant, then shook his head. “But he’s long gone.” Hawke’s expression was neutral when he finally looked up. “I’m sorry,” he said, chagrined. “You’d asked about sex, and I offered all of that.”

“It’s fine,” Hawke said gently. “I like knowing things about you.”

“Hmm,” Anders said noncommittally, poking at his food, lost in thought. They ate for a few moments in silence before he remembered that it was his turn to ask Hawke something. “So, what are you looking for out of life? You know, beyond bartending.”

“And sleeping with attractive men?” Hawke asked, grinning. “Nothing as noble as what you’re doing. Take care of my family. Do things I enjoy. Get a house with a yard and two giant dogs, and maybe a man to rub my… feet.” He winked, and Anders rolled his eyes.

“ _Two_ giant dogs?” he asked incredulously.

“Start with two, maybe end up with five or six. You know, to cuddle with.” Anders shook his head in disdain. “You don’t like dogs?”

“Dogs aren’t cats,” Anders said simply, and Hawke snorted. “I had a cat before I entered the Chantry, but I had to give him away.”

“Aww. Well, cats aren’t that bad, but dogs are far superior.”

“If you try to fight me on this, you’ll lose,” Anders warned, and Hawke laughed around his mouthful of food. 

“If I lose, do I get a spanking?” Hawke wiggled his eyebrows.

“You’re ridiculous. And never serious about anything, are you?”

“I’m serious about some things.”

“Not relationships,” Anders challenged, remembering past commentary at the bar.

“Hey, I’m more than willing to try,” Hawke retorted. “As long as the guy is worth it.” He looked at Anders pointedly, grinning when the priest blushed. “Speaking of. We should do this more often.”

“What, ask probing and uncomfortable questions?” The teasing tone took all the sting out of the comment.

“Sure, as long as it’s on another date like this. Or maybe we could go out somewhere; some place unassuming. I don’t know.” Hawke offered a shrug and set his empty food container on the table. “Not to say I want to stop doing all the other naughty things.”

“No, of course not,” Anders replied knowingly, and cleared the way so Hawke could resume his earlier position against his side. He set his own dinner aside and ran his fingers through Hawke’s dark hair again. The man turned and bared his teeth against Anders’ shoulder, biting at the fabric of his shirt as a hand moved across the priest’s chest, and Anders twisted his fingers and tugged in admonishment.

“None of that,” Anders scolded, and Hawke stilled with a disappointed huff. The talk about Hawke taking things seriously reminded the priest of the warm clothing and the repairman that had come to the clinic the week previous. “I meant to ask you, did you donate anything to the clinic?”

Hawke shrugged against Anders’ chest. “Maybe a few things. Had Bethy take them over for me. She’s another one of those do-gooder types, so she might ask you about volunteering. The fact that it looks good on a resume doesn’t hurt either. I assume that’s all right?”

“Of course, if she wants to help I wouldn’t turn her away. Isabela’s girlfriend and Lirene are the only volunteers I have.”

Hawke lifted his head, startled. “Izzy’s girlfriend? Was that the tiny dark-haired girl?”

“Yes, why?”

“ _That’s_ Kitten?!” The man made a choked noise. “All the shit Izzy’s told me, wow. She doesn’t seem the type.”

“I don’t think I want to know what you’ve been told,” Anders replied dryly. “Merrill’s a charming young lady, if a bit… distractible.”

“I’d imagine those two at the clinic are the only people you ever see outside the Chantry, huh?”

“And you,” Anders replied with another tug at Hawke’s hair. “I don’t have much of a social life, it’s true. But I’m fine with that.”

A few hours later, they’d watched the entirety of a sweet romance, and every time Hawke’s hands wandered Anders would gently scold him and replace his hands with a kiss. But now, faced with the prospect of heading back to his dismal apartment, Anders decided he’d give Hawke something to look forward to. He nudged Hawke off his shoulder and sat up, moving to straddle the man’s legs and rest his arms around Hawke’s neck.

Hawke blinked in surprise and grinned wolfishly, hands automatically going to Anders’ waist as the priest leaned in and kissed him. Their tongues moved languidly as Anders’ fingers slid across Hawke’s neck and teased along the column of his throat. His hips arched upward against Anders’ and he moaned, tightening his grip on the priest’s hips.

Anders broke the kiss and bent to trail his lips across Hawke’s jaw. “Do you want to know what your punishment is?”

“Not having sex tonight wasn’t enough?” Hawke asked, turning his head to give Anders access. 

“No,” Anders said with a soft laugh, “you’re not getting out of this that easily.” Teeth sank into Hawke’s earlobe as he ran his thumbnail down Hawke’s throat. “I want you to go to work on Friday with that vibrating plug you bought us. I want you to wear it for me so that when I arrive, I can tease you with it all night until you can’t stand.”

Hawke groaned, shifting underneath him, and all he could think to say was, “You’re making me wait that long?”

“It’s only two days, Hawke,” Anders scolded. “You’re always so impatient. But if it makes you feel better, you may touch yourself whenever you think of me. You’re not allowed to come, though.”

Already aching for the priest’s touch, Hawke couldn’t imagine what two days of anticipation and teasing would do to him. He panted under the thumb slowly stroking his throat, pressed up with his hips. “What about you?”

“Mmm.” With a last nip to Hawke’s earlobe, Anders pulled back, running his hands up to lace through the man’s dark hair. “Would it make you feel better or worse to know I’ll be getting myself off to the thought of this?”

“Fuck,” Hawke whined, and Anders smiled down at him. He pressed a chaste kiss to Hawke’s lips, and climbed off the man’s lap.

Anders took the plug’s remote with him when he left.

* * *

The reminder Hawke was texted before starting his shift on Friday was unnecessary, but still made him shiver; there was no way he could have forgotten the order Anders had given him. He chewed on his lip nervously as he filled the plug with fresh batteries, packing it and a bottle of lubricant into his shoulderbag. He had briefly considered putting it in before going to work, but didn’t particularly want to drive like that, nor wear it for longer than was necessary.

The bathroom suited well enough, although he fretted the entire time about the possibility of someone coming in while he lubed the plug liberally, cursed himself for not at least stretching at home, and pressed it inside, gasping at the burn.

It wasn’t as awkward as Hawke had feared, just a bit distracting as he greeted his coworkers and waved Corff out the door. He frowned at Isabela, but she kissed his cheek as cheerfully as ever and gave no indication of conspiracy.

Anders arrived earlier than his usual time, sitting at the bar as had been his wont lately, and if his smile was broader than normal nobody else seemed to notice. Hawke cleared his throat before trying for nonchalance. “Your cider?”

“Yes, please,” Anders nodded, eyes bright.

It wasn’t until he’d turned back, setting the glass down as he met Anders’ eyes, that Hawke felt the first pulse of vibration - quick, soft, just enough to let him know the connection existed. He winced, swallowed, and Anders’ smile grew just a fraction, lifting his glass in a toast and saying, “Very good, thank you.”

 _Very good_ had obviously been meant for him, and Hawke tried not to show his shiver as he turned back to work.

The busy room was a mixed blessing; Hawke had a lot of people to pay attention to, and the volume drowned out the intermittent buzzing as Anders toyed with him. It was unpredictable, a gentle background hum for long enough that Hawke almost got used to it, then a rhythmic harsh pulse until he ended up stumbling over his own feet and Anders stopped it completely.

Isabela came to greet the priest in his seat with a wink and a leering, “Well, _hello_ , Father!”

Hawke would have been suspicious if he didn’t know she always acted like that. But he was surprised to see Anders wink back at her and pull his pocket open. When her brows came down in confusion, he jerked his head infinitesimally in the bartender’s direction, and Hawke cursed as he ran into the wall at a sharp pulse of the plug.

Her delighted laughter was, again, not out of character, and Hawke resisted throwing something at her.

Half an hour in, he was so hard it hurt, and Anders was only sipping his cider in tiny increments, seemingly watching the room passively with a hand in his pocket. Hawke passed in front of his seat on his way to the other end of the bar, and stumbled again as Anders twitched the remote, slapping a hand onto the counter to steady himself.

Anders raised his eyebrows. “Are you quite all right, Mr. Hawke?”

“Peachy,” Hawke snarled, face flushed with more than embarrassment.

From his perch in the far corner, Varric looked up, frowning contemplatively. “Be nice to Father Blondie.”

An hour after Anders arrived, Hawke was casting desperate glances his way every few minutes, no longer able to concentrate on any kind of subtlety. The priest smiled to himself, set a bill down on the bar, and caught the bartender’s gaze before gesturing minutely towards the back door.

Hawke’s relief was palpable, and he caught Anders leaving out of the corner of his eye as he told Varric he was heading out to take a break.

Anders waited in the alley, around the corner and out of sight, feeling utterly pleased with himself at how wrecked Hawke was already. His distress was delicious, and Anders couldn't wait to push him further, palming his cock through his jeans while he leaned against the wall, the remote in his pocket.

He didn't have to wait long before the bar's back door slammed into the wall with Hawke's urgency. The bartender turned the corner, his expression all wild desperation and need, and he moaned when Anders grabbed him by the shirt, pinning him against the brick and kissing him forcefully. Hawke was already whimpering against his lips when the priest finally broke away for air, his hand slipping into his pocket to turn on the toy again.

"Now, apologize to me and tell me what I'm punishing you for," Anders growled into Hawke's ear.

"I - I... you..." Hawke swallowed, hardly able to remember, shuddering as the insidious vibrations tore through his sensitive body again. "I snuck into the confessional. Took too much of a risk. I'm sorry, Father, please, I'm sorry, I won't do it again, I'll be careful." He clung to the priest, dropping his head to rest on Anders’ shoulder, and groaned, finally able to let himself respond to the torment that had left his leaking cock too hard too long for comfort.

"Good," Anders breathed, nipping at Hawke's earlobe. He slid one hand down Hawke's chest, dragging nails across the fabric of his shirt, watching Hawke's face as he teased closer to the man's waistband. Anders hooked a finger through Hawke's belt loop and tugged as his other hand crept up Hawke's neck, drawing his thumb across his throat. "You're too greedy. We have to be careful. You don't want to miss out on all the lovely things I can do to you."

"Please," Hawke whimpered again, tipping his head back in invitation, arching against the brick as his hips rolled helplessly, uselessly. "I'll be careful, I promise," he pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before meeting Anders' gaze desperately. "Just please, I can't take any more, I need it."

"Shh, I know." Anders' fingers slipped from Hawke's belt to his own, unfastening his trousers enough to wrap his hand around his own cock, relishing the heat and length of Hawke's arousal against his thigh. "But not yet."

The priest stroked himself hard but steadily, drawing out each motion and breathing roughly against Hawke's mouth. The fingers of his other hand closed around Hawke's neck, pressing the man back into the wall; he kept that grip loose, wanting Hawke to stay on that delirious edge with the plug inside him vibrating relentlessly.

Gasping harshly, Hawke's fingers scrabbled at the wall behind him, closer than he wanted to be with Anders telling him not to. The blond _knew_ he could come like this, even on the lower setting, especially with the seam of his jeans sliding almost painfully over his cock with every movement, and the delicious pressure on his throat weakening his knees. He couldn't even concentrate on the wonderful way Anders' body moved against him as he pleasured himself.

"Father, please," Hawke whispered, "I'm so close."

Anders' breath stuttered, fingertips grazing the head of his cock to slick wetness across his length, stroking faster as he felt Hawke tense against him. "Don't you dare," he hissed against Hawke's mouth, tongue flicking out to lick the corner of it as he relished the wanton, pleading look on the man's face. "Don't you fucking dare come, or I'll leave you out here like this."

"I c-can't." Hands glued to the wall as if Anders had ordered him to keep them there, Hawke whimpered, spreading his legs restlessly, thigh brushing against the priest's rhythmically working fingers as the vibration, the stretch, the hand on his throat and Anders' breath against his ear boiled away the edges of his self-control. "I can't, Anders, Father, I can't hold off, please tell me I can come, I don't want to disobey."

"You're being so good, you _won't_ disobey me, Hawke, you won't," Anders growled, loosening the hand around Hawke's throat as he squeezed his cock, so close himself just from knowing how he'd been affecting the bartender all night, the desperate words and the feel of Hawke's body trembling against his. Anders shifted his thigh, just enough to feel the dull echoes of vibration against his skin, quietly repeating, "Don't," like a mantra against Hawke's throat as he came with a gasp, spilling inside his trousers and across his fingers.

As Anders shuddered against him, Hawke let out his breath in a sob. The priest's fingertips trailed down his collar when he took a step back, and if Hawke thought that was too much sensation, the sudden, brief spike in vibration from the toy almost undid him. "Please, I can't," Hawke gasped hoarsely, clinging to the wall and the shreds of his self-control.

"You _can_ ," Anders crooned, caressing the remote, savouring the shout another spike drew as Hawke shook apart in front of him. He bit his lip at the noise, however, and ordered, "Cover your mouth, you're too loud."

Hawke's hands flew to muffle the cry the priest pulled from him with another gentle pulse, beyond words, a drop of sweat trickling down his neck as he writhed helplessly against the wall.

The vibration dimmed, and Anders watched Hawke for a brief moment, torn between wanting to draw this out as long as possible and knowing they shouldn't linger. He waited until Hawke's eyes opened, pleading silently behind the hands over his mouth, and Anders stepped forward, closing the distance between them again. A quick adjustment increased the intensity of the plug, and he pocketed the remote as Hawke tensed, resting one hand on Hawke's shoulder and pressing the palm of his other against the cock straining in Hawke's jeans, just to feel the heat of it against his skin.

The man jerked into the touch, any begging he may have done stifled as his thighs shook. Anders gave a feral grin, his hand grinding hard against Hawke's jeans as he hissed the order, "Come."

He would have at that even without the word, but being granted permission meant Hawke could give in completely to the ecstasy as his body convulsed helplessly, and he lurched forward to bury his face in Anders' neck, muffling his sobbing cry into his fingers and the priest's shirt beneath them. Cock throbbing against Anders' massaging fingertips as he spilled, Hawke groaned raggedly through his release.

As he began to come down from his high, Hawke realized that just like the first time they'd done this, the harsh vibrations weren't stopping, and he stiffened, choking out, " _Enough_ ," as he tangled his fingers blindly in Anders' shirt.

"I said cover your mouth," Anders scolded, and Hawke obeyed, a trembling hand clapping over his mouth as he pressed his face into Anders' shoulder. "I'm not done with you yet." 

His hand continued working along Hawke's length, pressing his weight forward to keep the man pinned upright against the wall. "You're going to give me another for your greed."

"Oh, _fuck_." A shudder wracked Hawke's body, and then another sob, overstimulation sensitizing him until he could only submit, unable to decide whether he wanted to thrust his hips into Anders' hand or pull away, but the wicked vibrations continued either way. He shook his head, thinking of objecting _I can't_ again, but Anders seemed to know Hawke better than he knew himself, and those fingers plied his cock wonderfully after long, unusual weeks of only his own touch there.

"You came into the Chantry to see me, couldn't even wait another day, you just _had_ to sneak in like a brat," Anders murmured lowly against Hawke's ear, tightening his grip on Hawke's shoulder. "You're so greedy for me, aren't you? Do you think this will be enough for you? Is this too much?"

Hawke shook his head quickly, breathing harshly through his nose and whimpering into Anders' shirt as the priest stroked him through his jeans. "Do you remember your word?" he asked, and Hawke's frantic nod had him chuckling, lips brushing against Hawke's temple. "Good. You're doing so well for me. Be a good boy and give me another."

With another wrecked moan, Hawke tried to press closer despite the impossibility, the waves of sensation already beginning to crest again. He'd _never_ done this before, had no idea he was capable, but that was what Anders did to him, wasn't it? Taught him things he would never even have wondered about himself. A muffled sob poured into his fingers while he ground his hips against Anders' hand, cock already twitching weakly as he was dragged helplessly towards release.

Anders continued his steady, quiet words as his fingers and palm worked Hawke harder, coaxing more whimpers and shudders from him. "That's it, you're so good, Hawke, so obedient." The priest licked his lips at the feel of the vibration rippling through Hawke's skin. Witnessing the man so wrecked and needy was beautiful, and a new tug of arousal pooled low in Anders' belly; he couldn't wait to see how many orgasms he could pull from Hawke in a more comfortable setting. "Are you going to come for me?" he whispered.

"Yes," Hawke choked out, the praise warming him and coaxing him along, Anders' shoulder damp under his hand from sweat and drool and tears he hadn't noticed shedding. "Yes," he repeated helplessly, too loudly, rolling his hips, riding the sensation, and then ecstasy crashed over him and he bit down on his hand to muffle the howl he felt trying to escape as he tensed, trembled, and his knees buckled beneath him.

Removing his hand from Hawke's oversensitive cock, the priest wrapped his arm around Hawke's waist, holding him up against the wall as he fumbled to turn the remote in his pocket off. "That's it, yes, you did _so_ well," he murmured, Hawke's weight sagging against him, the man's fingers clenched in his shirt as plaintive whines fell from his lips. "Shh, it's all right; I've got you, pet."

Hawke gasped into the sudden silence as the buzzing finally shut off, clinging to the man as if his knees would never hold him solid again. "Too much," he rasped, and he wasn't sure if it was true, but Anders' praise made him proud for enduring it nonetheless, made him want to curl up in bed with the priest and not leave for days.

Another shudder rippled through Hawke's body, and he made a discontented noise when shifting reminded him of the plug still stretching him open. "Gotta take it out," he mumbled into Anders' shirt, and then laughed weakly. "How'm I gonna go back to work?"

Anders chuckled quietly. "I'm sure you'll think of something. Perhaps you can convince Varric you need to go home." He ran his fingers through Hawke's sweat-damp hair; they were both a mess, and neither of them were especially fit to go back inside. "I've kept you out here too long, though."

Hawke nodded distractedly, tried to pull back and stand on his own, and groaned at the effort it took. “Definitely not going back to work,” he muttered. When he looked back up at Anders, he had a pleading, puppy-dog look in his eyes. “Will you drive me home?”

“What about your car?” Anders asked with amusement.

“I’ll figure out the buses tomorrow, I guess.” Hawke wrinkled his nose. “Is that a yes?”

Reaching out, Anders smoothed his hair down, restoring a semblance of order. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t take care of you after this. Of course I’ll drive you home.”

Hawke nodded again, then sighed, looking at the bar door forlornly. “I’d better tell Varric.”

When he managed to get inside, the plug far more distracting and uncomfortable than it had been at the beginning of the night, he discovered Varric had already called Fenris in to replace him. “You think I’m blind?” the short man grumped, shooing him in the direction of the door. “You’re not well and you’re acting like more of an idiot than normal. _Something’s_ up. Go home, I need you better tomorrow.”

 _Something’s up, indeed,_ Hawke thought, but he simply grinned apologetically at his boss, and stuck his tongue out at Isabela, who was sniggering into a tray in the corner.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Please_ don't murder us with knives.

_My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to your word._  
_Keep me from deceitful ways; be gracious to me through your law._  
_Trials 119:28_

 

Hawke managed to navigate Lowtown’s bus schedule to get back to the Hanged Man before his shift on Saturday. Thankfully, his car was still there when he arrived.

“Hey,” he called to Varric as he strode up to the bar. “Sorry about all that. I feel better today.”

His boss looked at him from over his reading glasses. “Good,” he said, then made sure Corff was at the other end of the bar before he added, “Leave that shit in the bedroom next time, or I’ll kick your ass and find your replacement.”

Hawke froze and stared at Varric, who had returned to his paperwork as if he hadn’t just dropped that bombshell. “...excuse me?”

“I saw the way you were looking at Father Blondie all night and how you ran out of here _right_ after he left. The way you chase ass is old news to me. You’re not as subtle as you think you are. He is, though, which is probably why you’ve not burst into flames from the Maker’s wrath yet.” He marked something in a notebook decisively with a pen. “No more of that shit at work.”

“Y-yeah, you got it,” Hawke stuttered, and fled into the backroom.

* * *

 

**Tuesday**

> 2:45pm Anders: _Should I watch out for any intruders into my confessional tonight?_
> 
> 2:50pm Hawke: _Hah no its bethanys birthday_
> 
> 2:52pm Anders: _Good, I won’t have to worry if you’re behaving or not._
> 
> 2:59pm Hawke: _I never behave ;)_
> 
> 9:37pm Hawke: _Well that was fucking awful_
> 
> 9:44pm Anders: _What happened?_
> 
> 9:48pm Hawke: _Dont wanna think ill tell you tomorrow_

 

* * *

When Anders arrived on Wednesday, Hawke’s mood was obvious as soon as the man opened the door; the forced smile was bitter and held none of his normal eagerness. "What happened?" Anders asked again as Hawke shut the door behind him, mind jumping to the worst conclusions.

"Nothing," Hawke tried flippantly, but he didn't even believe himself. He held out a hand for Anders' coat, as usual, and amended with a wry smile, "Nothing serious. I hope. Just - living room?"

Anders continued to frown concernedly as he followed Hawke to the couch, where the man sat down with a heavy sigh. Hawke began with an uncomfortable shrug, "Yesterday was Bethy's birthday. Bethy and Carver's birthday, actually. They're - they were twins, I told you, right? She was trying to put on a brave face, but she wasn't... her usual self. Obviously upset. And I can’t help but think it's my fucking fault." Raking a hand down his face, Hawke turned to give the priest a bright, cheerful, fake grin. "Oh, and Varric knows about us."

Tamping down the spike of anxiety that pierced him at the last statement, Anders sat down and put his arm across Hawke's shoulders, pulling the man against his side. "I'm sorry, Hawke," he said, torn between wanting to offer solace and the need to ask about Varric.

Hawke buried his face in Anders' shoulder, breathing in the comforting scent of sandalwood. "I guess I'm not fucking subtle," he complained, muffled, then pulled back just enough to clear his voice. "He knew something was up when I fled the building after you on Friday. I really don't think he'll say anything, either, but fuck, I really fucked up this secret thing, didn't I?"

"It's not your fault," Anders said, and pressed his lips against Hawke's forehead. "I should have known better than to do anything at the bar. Varric seems trustworthy, at least, but we'll have to stop taking things out in public. This can’t keep happening." Now it was two others that knew their secret, and Anders again felt the chilly certainty that it was only a matter of time before they were caught and everything fell apart. He wasn't ready to give this up, as selfish as it was.

"Tell me about Bethany," he said, to change the subject.

"Yeah." Hawke took a shaky breath. Saying these things aloud was getting to him; at least when they were only in his head he could pretend they weren't there. "I fucked her up too. She's not the same without Carver. They were inseparable brats, always in each other’s business, and - and now it's just Bethy, and I'm watching her try to be alone..." There was far more swirling in his head that he couldn’t say; with a frustrated groan, Hawke tilted a watery gaze up at the priest. "I could probably use a confession," he joked weakly.

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Would you like one?" he asked, and kept the question light, despite the traitorously arousing thoughts that came to mind at the association of ‘Hawke’ and ‘confession’. "What do you need from me?"

"I don't know." Hawke feathered a hand through his hair again, a sign of stress Anders knew well by now. "Maybe the formality would help. Not that we do it formally," he added dryly. "But... a distraction, at least. Aren't you supposed to assign penance for these things anyway?"

"Are you in need of penance, my son?" Anders murmured darkly, nails tracing the back of Hawke's neck. "You always complete what I assign you so well. If that's what you want, then go fetch my boots and your blindfold, and I'll hear your confession."

A shiver raced down Hawke's spine, and his hands clenched in Anders' shirt before he pushed away, an undercurrent of eager submission in his expression. He left the room without a word, and when he returned with the requested items, the priest had reseated himself in his accustomed armchair, hands folded in his lap, face impassive as he watched Hawke kneel at his feet.

Again, Hawke took deliberate care with Anders' shoes, placing them neatly aside before he slid the smooth, heeled boots up the slim calves in front of him, fingers lingering wherever he thought he might be allowed the indulgence, pressing into warm flesh. The black leather and flaring profile added to Anders' presence, until he cut an imposing figure that Hawke wanted only to obey.

When he had finished reverently lacing and tightening, Hawke pressed close, planting a chaste kiss firmly to the top of one boot before he sat back and held out the blindfold wordlessly, eyes shining in anticipation.

Anders accepted the piece of velvet and leather with a smirk. "Strip, before I put this on you," he said, and traced the edge idly with his fingertip while Hawke eagerly got to his feet to comply, appreciating each inch of the man's body as it was revealed. Hawke threw his clothing aside haphazardly and sank back to his knees, gloriously naked, dark eyes closing just before they disappeared behind the blindfold.

When it was secured, the priest sat back, fingers clasped in his lap, and rested a boot casually across Hawke's thigh. "You may begin."

Hawke sucked in a breath, nostrils flaring, at the heavy boot pressing into his flesh. His hands hovered for a moment, wanting to hang on to it as an anchor, to stroke the smooth leather, but eventually he let them fall to his sides. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," he began, falling easily into the ritual. "It has been four weeks since my last confession."

Another steadying breath, and he bent his head forward, focusing on the darkness behind the blindfold. "I accuse myself of the following sins. Lust is a given by now, I think. Sloth, being so reckless, I... I was supposed to keep this a secret and I've failed pretty badly at that. I'm sorry. I don't know how to fix it. And I can't fix _Carver_ , I can't fix Bethany, I can’t bring him back for her or undo my carelessness. She was so upset yesterday and it's my - shit." He deliberately unclenched his fists, palm stinging where his nails had dug in, and gave in, grasping the boot in his lap for comfort, something to cling to, thumbs tracing tiny circles.

"That's wrath, I suppose," Hawke muttered. "More wrath at myself. I should have done better but I never _think_."

"You carry too much self-loathing. You can't fix everything," Anders responded quietly, his chest tightening in sympathy. "You weren't the one who killed your brother, and you shouldn't accept your sister's grief as anger directed towards you. None of this is your fault, and you don't deserve to carry this anger."

"I know. I _know_ that." Hawke's mouth twisted, and his hands stilled as he turned his head aside as if he could avert his gaze further, curl in on himself. "But it's there anyway, and sometimes I can't push it away. Especially after watching her yesterday." Picking at her food, staring out the window, trying to smile for their mother. "I just... I want to fix it, and I'm too callous and reckless to ever fix anything. I'm frustrated, I’m angry. Father, help me."

The priest took his time thinking on the nature of Hawke's penance, drawing out the silence. The previous punishment he’d given out for wrath had been rewarding for both of them, and he considered the paddle, but ached to see if Hawke could take more. "The last time you took penance for wrath, I spanked you across your desk. Do you want more than that?"

"Yes," Hawke whispered.

Anders stood and stepped around Hawke’s kneeling form, trailing a hand through his hair soothingly. Part of him warned against going forward in the man’s current emotional state, but the other trusted Hawke’s own judgement when the man said he wanted it - and Anders was hungry to try this himself. "I want you to kneel in the armchair, with your hands gripping the back."

Unquestioning, Hawke groped forward until he found the chair Anders had vacated. One knee on it already, he froze at the clinking of a belt being undone behind him. The question that followed, calm and full of promise, made him shiver. "Have you been whipped before, pet?"

"N-no." He couldn't help trying to look around, useless as it was, but a quiet admonition from the priest and he turned back, settling himself nervously in the chair.

The belt slid free, and Anders held it in one hand while he caressed Hawke's back with the other, stepping close to feel Hawke's body heat against his chest as he spoke soothingly. "I'm going to strike you once, and you're going to tell me if you want me to keep going. If you don't want to continue, then I'll use your paddle instead. Do you understand?"

Hawke nodded. "Yes."

"Do you remember your word?"

"Meredith."

"Good boy." The priest placed a kiss on Hawke's shoulder and stepped back, folding the belt double and gripping it tightly, hand covering the metal. "Relax," he ordered, and waited for Hawke take a deep breath and release it, his muscles loosening, before swinging it and striking once across Hawke's ass. It wasn't a very hard blow, but he'd wanted to give the man a taste of what it could be.

Hawke jumped at the impact, louder than he’d expected, and he gasped, pressing his forehead into the back of the soft chair as the pain filtered in. Definitely more than a spanking, more than the paddle his partners had used casually, playfully in the past, but in the wake of the pain was a sharp pleasure he ached for.

A few seconds later, Hawke realized that Anders had paused, waiting for his reaction. "Well?" the priest asked softly.

Hawke groaned inarticulately.

Anders chuckled. "One day, you'll learn to give me a straight answer on the first try. Would you like to continue?"

Swallowing, Hawke nodded against the chair, and braced himself. "Yes."

The belt swung again at Hawke's ass, harder, and Anders only waited a second before delivering another, and another, in slow rhythm. He was still holding back, but the desire that heated him at seeing Hawke willing and prone had him itching to make the man scream.

He paused after four blows to look at the red marks beginning to streak across Hawke's skin. "Do you want it harder?" he asked, his breath already heavy.

It took Hawke a moment to respond, arms trembling as he absorbed the way the belt had rocked him with every blow. A rush of pleasure filled him when Anders paused, making his cock twitch with interest where it hung heavy between his legs, and Hawke chased that, breathing, “Yes.”

The next strike fell across Hawke's thighs, with more weight behind it, and Anders smirked at the cry that fell from Hawke's lips. "Good," he purred, and the next blows scattered across the man's ass and lower back, the crack of leather against skin and Hawke’s harsh pants echoing loudly in the quiet room. The priest paused and adjusted himself, grinding a palm against his arousal. "You're doing so well," he said, and swung again.

As impact layered on impact, thudding into his back and slapping the softer flesh of his ass and thighs, Hawke buried his face in his arms, a shout pulled from him with each swing. Each second of pause between strikes had him gasping at the sudden surge of pleasure, writhing in the chair as his cock slowly hardened under the assault.

“Ah, you take that so well,” Anders sighed, eyes lingering hungrily on the naked curve of Hawke’s back, and the way he shuddered under the belt. Eager himself, he increased the speed of each swing until there were long stretches with no pause.

Hawke clung to the praise and the rush of adrenaline, arching into the blooming heat and the sudden ecstatic sizzle of his nerves, but as the belt came faster, burning spikes of pain with fewer breaks between, he started to wonder if he could really take this. His hands shook where they dug into the back of the chair, and he clenched his teeth on the thought, _Maybe we should stop._

But Anders was enjoying it, and Hawke couldn't avoid the thought that he deserved this, pain and penance for his mistakes, and so when the next hard blow hit his thigh, he sobbed out a ragged moan, tossing his head, instead of the word that hung on his tongue.

The pained cry and Hawke's tensed back and neck warned Anders off of delivering another strike, even as his arm raised for it. "Do you want me to continue?" he asked. Hawke nodded, but his shoulders were stiff, knuckles white around the back of the chair.

Anders let the hand holding the belt fall to his side, his tone changing, still firm but without the sharp edge. "Hawke, you need to _tell me_ if this is too much."

"I can take it," Hawke said automatically, but he flinched when Anders' fingertips brushed over his unmarked shoulder. "Can we..." He swallowed, mouth dry, and tried not to sound too much like he was whining when he asked, "Can we just take a break?"

Anders' hand slid up the back of Hawke's neck, frowning at the shudder of his taut muscles. This went beyond needing a simple break, he could see it. "Of course. But I think you need to say the word, Hawke. There's no shame in it," he urged, realizing suddenly that he didn’t know if Hawke would actually use his safeword if he’d needed it. “We’ll stop,” he soothed, “but I want you to tell me to.”

A shaky breath as Hawke listened to the soreness of his muscles and the buzz of endorphins, as he realized he _didn't_ want Anders to keep hitting him like this, and that’s what the safeword was supposed to be for, wasn’t it? Still, it was an effort to admit that he'd failed again, that he couldn't take everything the priest wanted to give him, and to finally breathe out, "Meredith."

As soon as the word left his mouth, the belt hit the floor with an audible clank, and gentle fingers were pulling the blindfold off his eyes, shielding him from the light while he blinked the world back into focus. Anders held Hawke’s arms and guided him off the chair, making low, reassuring noises as the man hissed at the pull of his skin, and when Hawke looked up again, expression vulnerable, expecting to be scolded, he realized he’d been brought to straddle the priest's lap, knees indenting the couch to either side of them.

The blond took Hawke's face in his hands and kissed him gently, tracing his jaw with his thumb. "You were lovely," he said, and when Hawke shook his head stubbornly, Anders ran his fingers up the back of Hawke's scalp and kissed him again. "I don't want you to ever be afraid to use your safeword. I trust you to use it if you need to, just as you trust me to stop if you say it."

"You were enjoying it," Hawke objected; he could feel evidence of that, though it was fading as they sat there. He sighed, shifting uncomfortably as the growing bruises on his thighs and ass pressed into the cloth of Anders' trousers. "I'm sorry. I should have... I wanted to be good for you."

Anders shook his head. "There’s nothing to be sorry for. You _were_ good for me, you used your safeword when it was too much and let me know that I should stop. It doesn't matter if I'm enjoying it, we _both_ need to enjoy it, and I won't do anything that you don't want. That's the most important thing here, and any pleasure I get is secondary to making sure that you're taken care of." And internally, he berated himself for even going through with this; he should have known better than to do something so potentially destructive, when the man was already vulnerable.

His arms wrapped around Hawke's shoulders, long fingers massaging the man's scalp. "That word is for both of us, and it will never disappoint me if you use it. I’m proud of you for using it. What _will_ disappoint me is if you hold out on using it when you need to. I need to trust that you’ll tell me when something is too much."

All Hawke heard at first was that he'd done something wrong again, by _not_ using it until Anders made him, but the priest's hands were soothing, his words designed to relax. "I enjoyed it at first," Hawke said, hedging the point. "I liked the parts in between, when you stopped for a second. I _like_ it when you hurt me like that, so I don't know what changed."

"Whipping is extreme for most people, and you weren't in a good frame of mind for me to try that. I shouldn’t have suggested that today, and I'm sorry for that." He pressed his lips to Hawke's bearded jaw in apology. "In the future, if you wish for us to try that again, then we'll take it slowly, and you'll tell me how you want it, instead of me just giving it to you. And if you don’t want it again, that’s perfectly fine. There are plenty of other things we can do," he said with a soft smile.

The gentle touches and little kisses were getting to Hawke, and he relaxed by inches, tension leeching out of his shoulders. He still winced when a slight shift rubbed fabric across the welts forming on his thighs, but the pain was distant, and he sighed as he leaned forward to wedge his arms between Anders and the couch, chin resting on the priest's shoulder. "I didn't screw this up?"

"Of course not," Anders replied, kissing Hawke's temple. "We were bound to find something you didn't like. I just want you to enjoy your time with me." Now that the man was more relaxed, Anders could appreciate the feel of Hawke's naked warmth draped across him and Hawke's muscular shoulders under his hands, and though his arousal had lessened, he felt himself stirring again. But he had plenty of practice ignoring his own desires, and he simply continued the light, soothing touches across the man's back.

As Hawke's hair fluttered under Anders' breath, reveling at the priest’s wandering hands, Hawke thought of asking if he was enjoying all this too. He thought of pointing out that he hadn't finished his penance. Then he noticed Anders' hips shift minutely, his subtly deepening breath, and pressed forward to feel his growing hardness. Hawke grinned, turning his head to rake teeth lightly over the blond's neck, and murmured, "Speaking of enjoying yourself..."

Anders huffed out a laugh and licked his lips. "Can you blame me, when I have a gorgeous, naked man in my lap?" he joked, fingers trailing across Hawke's neck, tracing along the wing of his collarbones. "But as I said, my needs are secondary to yours, especially right now. What do you want?"

"That's a dangerous question, Father." Hawke traced a thumb across the inset of Anders' collar pressed closer to feel the priest's interest while he purred into his ear, "I _want_ you to fuck me, as you well know. I want to hear what little, breathy noises you'll make when you're buried in my ass." He rolled his hips, pointedly. "I loved feeling it under my lips in the confessional, I could almost _taste_ it when you came. I thought of you standing up, pulling your pretty cock out, pushing me against the door and forcing it down my throat until I couldn't breathe."

The priest inhaled sharply, desire burning through him in a wave at the sinful words, and rocked his hips up against Hawke's, hearing the man hiss as raw skin scraped along his trousers. "Maker, if I could I would have fucked your throat right there in the Chantry," he groaned, panting against Hawke's neck. He took Hawke's nipple rings between his fingers and tugged lightly, teasingly. "I almost let you go through with it, I was so close to taking it out and letting you suck me off."

"You should have." Hawke arched his chest back abruptly, turning the tease into a sharp tug, and groaned into Anders' ear. "That's good, hard's good there. It's why I got them pierced in the first place. Oh, I want to see you naked." He tugged at the blond's shirt, just a little, then smoothed his hands up his chest, daring to brush over his nipples in return. Panting, Hawke let himself get lost in the imagery. "Just the boots, maybe, and you can kick my legs apart, press me face-down into my bed and fuck me into it. Get yourself off in my ass and leave me hanging."

Anders' eyes were dark, his voice a low growl, any sort of filter he'd had for his words gone at the beautiful reality of Hawke writhing naked in his lap. "I'd pin your shoulders to the mattress and not stop until you screamed for me. Maybe I'd leave you there, hard and aching with my come dripping out of you, and keep using you all night, just toy with your hole until I’m ready to fuck you again." Anders pulled the piercings hard until Hawke gave a whimpered moan. "Yes, pet, make those lovely noises for me," he murmured, leaving one hand to play with a ring while he stroked Hawke's back, nails grazing over the welts left by the belt.

"Please," Hawke begged, arching into Anders' touch, fingers clenching in his shirt as he ground down. The sting of the priest's nails was perfect, sharp counterpoint to the pleasure that seared through him at every hard tug. "Yes, please, fill me and use me and leave me there, shit. Ah, I miss being fucked. You'd do it hard, wouldn't you? Spank me until I howl and then force me open around your cock and pound me sore."

"I'd fuck you just how you wanted it, how you _needed_ it. I know you want to come screaming and shaking, impaled on my cock, I'd fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk." Teeth grazed across Hawke's jaw before Anders captured his mouth in hard, passionate kiss. He gave a final sharp tug at Hawke's nipple ring with his right hand, fingers trailing down the coarse hair of Hawke's chest and lower to his stomach. "Can you feel what you do to me?" the priest murmured against Hawke's lips, gripping Hawke's ass and grinding his hard length up against it.

It hurt, the press of Anders' cock against the welts the belt had left behind, but Hawke whimpered, sliding against it willingly, inviting that sting and rolling his hips as if he were fucking himself on it. His eyes flew wide when Anders' fingers brushed deliberately over the head of his cock, and he pulled back to stare at the priest's hungry expression, breath caught in his throat. "Please," Hawke whispered; he'd wanted this for so long and the implication was almost more than he could bear. "Please don't be teasing."

"I can't tease anymore," Anders said, weakly justifying his crumbled resolve with the fact that it was _just touching_. "Not when I want you this badly." Long fingers wrapped around Hawke's cock, the thick length so hot in his hand, and Anders let out a moan at the feeling as Hawke bucked his hips into his grip and cried out. The priest stroked him steadily, slowly, eyes flicking between Hawke's face and his hand as he worked Hawke's dick. "You feel so good," he purred. "You're so hard for me."

"Of course I am," Hawke choked out, "you're _touching_ me. Fucking Maker." He braced himself against the back of the couch, forcing his eyes to stay open to watch Anders' face in wonder when he just wanted to let them fall shut and concentrate on the sensations the priest was pulling from him. Rocking into Anders' hand, Hawke groaned in desperation; he was going to come too soon, and he wanted to keep this just a little while longer.

He rambled, to distract himself. "You find the most interesting ways to get me off. I've wondered if you can do it from my nipples alone, tie me down and just pull and twist until I'm begging, but you don't give in, you just jerk harder because you know my body better than I do, how do you do that? I can't wait to see what you come up with, Father, you're devious and gorgeous, _ah, fuck_ , please, I want to last!"

"Mmm, I could do that, you know," Anders murmured. "You're so sensitive that it wouldn't take much to get you off. But it would be much more fun to see how long I could draw it out. Tease and edge you for hours until you can't stand it and your voice was hoarse from screaming for me." He dragged his thumb across the leaking head of Hawke's cock and spread the wetness down the shaft. The grip on Hawke's ass tightened briefly as he rocked his hips up again, then moved to the small of Hawke's back, tracing a finger down, slowly and teasingly, until it rested at the top of Hawke’s cleft like a promise, grinning at the hitch in his breath, the helpless moans coming from his lips. "You have no idea what I can come up with, all the ways I can make you beg and moan and come for me. I can't wait to show you."

Hawke shuddered, jerking his hips up so his shaft slid faster through Anders' hand. The images in his head, the hand teasing his sore ass, long fingers working his cock expertly, and Anders so hard beneath him as he ground down - he couldn't resist the pull any more, and he groaned, long and ragged. The priest had a perfect view of his face crumpling in ecstasy when Hawke convulsed, barely holding himself up, spurting long ropes of cum over Anders' shirt.

Anders kept working Hawke’s cock as his orgasm shuddered through him, committing Hawke's flushed face to memory. The priest was so lost in desire for this man, for _more_ , for everything he craved but couldn't have, and gripped Hawke's ass in both hands as he thrust against him, desperate for friction and the heat of Hawke's skin.

"Yes, pet, you're so good for me," Anders moaned, leaning in to brush his lips against Hawke's throat, "so fucking perfect, I can't stand it." He laved his tongue across sweat-damp skin and bit a mark into Hawke's pulsepoint, wanting to claim every inch of him.

"Fuck," Hawke panted, arching his head back, "yes, mark me, don't stop touching me, Maker." He let go of the couch with one hand to clutch the back of Anders' head, pressing his mouth harder to his neck, and kept grinding down, wanting Anders' release, needing to feel him shudder and moan in return. The priest seemed to enjoy hearing the little sounds of pleasure he was making, the fantasies they were exchanging, so he continued deliberately. "You want to take your cock out, don't you? Really grind it against me? You should, I don't know what fucking rules you're breaking but it can't be that bad, we’ve gone this far. I want to touch it so badly, I want you in my mouth, in my ass, I'd squeeze you so tight, just imagine."

Anders' breath caught at the words; it would be so easy to give in and let Hawke do anything he wanted, but he _couldn't_ , and his grip on Hawke's hips tightened as he pulled the man closer, forcing that grinding, desperate rhythm as his pleasure built higher. He kissed Hawke hard. "I know, Maker help me, I want you," the priest whined against his lips, losing all sense of what he was saying. "To feel your mouth around me, to be inside you, I've never wanted anything more, fuck, how has it come to this?"

The slight shift reminded Hawke of the sore skin of his ass and thighs, and he whimpered at the burn, biting Anders' lip in retaliation, hands sliding over the priest's shoulders to pull him closer despite his overstimulated, softening cock. Anders was impossibly hard against him, and Hawke couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to be free to do what they wanted. "You know I want it," he pleaded, although he knew he shouldn't push like this. "We both do. Let me get you off, Anders."

"Fuck, I want... I..." The priest shook his head, his expression pained, but his nails dug furrows into Hawke's skin, and the cloth chafing against his erection wasn't enough; he needed more, he needed skin and heat and _Hawke_ and in that moment he didn't care what the Maker or Andraste would think, only for the sweet relief of Hawke's fingers around him. "Oh do it, touch me, Hawke, just fucking touch me," he pleaded, his desperate, dark eyes meeting Hawke's.

"Yes, fucking yes." Pulling back enough to fumble for the catch to Anders' trousers between them, Hawke's breathing hitched as he listened to Anders' pleading, filthy words resume, heard them change to whispers about the priest _riding him_ , tying him up and sinking down on his cock, and if he could have gotten hard again so soon, he would have been _instantly_. As it was, he cursed, fingers catching on the zipper, and groaned in satisfied pleasure as he finally, finally wrapped his hand around the silky flesh of the priest's solid, leaking, perfect cock.

Anders' hips bucked as he grit his teeth against a cry, cutting off his desperately-voiced stream of fantasies; the times he'd spent imagining Hawke's touch was nothing compared to the hand tight and hot around him, and he wouldn't last against those firm strokes. Anders clenched Hawke's ass with both hands and let his gaze fall between them, the sinful sight of the man's fingers around his flushed cock enough to send him over the edge, head falling back against the couch as he shouted and spilled across his clothing and Hawke's hand.

It was as lovely as Hawke had anticipated, a flush of pleasure spreading through him as his touch saw Anders losing control, trembling and shuddering his release. Hawke took advantage of the throat exposed so beautifully before him, and leaned forward to trail soft kisses across it, hand gentling as the blond's harsh, panting breaths began to slow. He was reluctant to stop touching, now that he'd been granted permission.

Then a hand was tangled in his hair, and Hawke found himself pulled up into a needy, desperate kiss, Anders' mouth moving with none of the finesse he usually had, all tongue and teeth and low whimpers. Hawke relaxed happily and let his mouth be ravaged.

Anders tried to fight off the anxiety that he could feel creeping in to threaten his sated mood, but the kiss just wasn't enough to do it. Hawke's forehead rested against his, their breath mingling as Anders' hands caressed his back lightly, gentle over the bruising from the belt. All the priest could think of, suddenly, was his fear of the inevitable, of losing Hawke and their relationship, this pleasure and peace that he'd come to look forward to, and how far he’d fallen with his vows; Maker, here he was sitting with a naked man in his lap, his cock out and softening under the man’s hand. In his heart, he knew that it was only a matter of time before he'd have to walk away to protect them both.

"So, Varric knows," he said quietly, and he felt Hawke flinch. "Two people know now, people that you see every day that know the both of us. Regardless of how trustworthy they might be... it's too much, all of this. It's gone too far."

A chill lanced through Hawke at the words, and he pulled back, looking over Anders’ downcast expression and dreading what the priest would say next. Hawke had always been flippant with lovers in the past, hadn’t bothered to fight when they inevitably wanted to break off their arrangement, but now he was afraid that Anders would do just that, and that realization was terrifying in its own right. His hands touched Anders’ chest, wishing Anders hadn’t said anything so he could just continue to enjoy their combined heat and breath and the scent of sex surrounding them.

“Are you going to leave?” Hawke asked quietly.

Anders swallowed, not meeting Hawke’s eyes. “I don’t _want_ to leave, that’s the problem.”

“Then just stay, please. Stay with me.” It reminded him of when he’d first asked the priest to stay, back when he’d come over his own desk from a spanking, and that had led to their agreement to begin this relationship. Anders’ brow furrowed, but he was silent, lost in his own thoughts, and Hawke’s mood shifted abruptly from fear to self-loathing, cursing himself for pushing the priest for more and his own carelessness with their privacy. “Fuck, I _did_ fuck this up, didn’t I? I always do that,” he swore.

Anders shook his head, started to say, “No, it’s not your fault,” but Hawke was already moving from his lap, rising unsteadily and wincing at the pain of his back.

“I need to shower,” he said simply, and walked down the hall towards his bedroom. He stopped at the doorway, then went to his dresser and pulled out a t-shirt and drawstring cloth trousers, bringing them to the living room. Anders had his forehead in his hands, but he looked up when Hawke came back. “Here. There’s a washer and dryer in the closet, you can wear these if you want to clean your clothes.”

Anders hesitated, but took the offered clothing after a moment. “Thank you.”

“Sure,” Hawke replied, and left again.


	18. Chapter 18

  
_The deep dark before dawn's first light seems eternal,_  
_But know that the sun always rises._  
_Unknown Scripture_

 

By the time Hawke returned, less frustrated but still anxious with a towel tied around his waist, Anders had changed and gone back to his position on the couch wearing an oversized shirt and trousers that were too short for the priest’s long legs. The boots had been removed and set next to the couch. _At least he’s still here,_ Hawke thought, slightly cheered.

For a long moment, there was only uncomfortable silence on top of the quiet thump of the washer, as Anders stared at the floor and Hawke hovered uncertainly. While in the shower, he’d examined and discarded countless ways of begging Anders to stay, some of them dramatic despite a hint of truth - _You’re the first person I’ve wanted to keep so badly, I’ll do anything_ \- but nothing had seemed adequate.

The priest finally spoke first, but his hesitant tone didn’t match the finality of his words, nor hide the anguish behind them. “We need to stop this,” he said quietly, fingers clenched in his lap.

When more didn’t seem forthcoming, Hawke shook his head in denial. “You can’t mean that.”

“It would be the best thing for both of us.”

“Bullshit,” Hawke replied stubbornly. “I know I fucked this up, but we’re not beyond hope, right?”

“It’s not your fault,” Anders insisted. “It doesn’t always have to be someone’s fault. We’re both to blame.”

“You say that, but I’m the one who fell all over myself at the bar. And let Izzy take my phone.” Hawke raked his fingers through his damp hair, ran his hands up his arms in a steadying gesture, and glanced over at Anders again, frowning at his averted gaze, his stiff posture. Normally Hawke was the one looking chagrined, and the change was disconcerting, seeing Anders so lost and melancholy. He didn’t know how to make it better, but he did know with certainty that he didn’t want to lose it either.

With a sigh, Hawke broke their tableau, tossing his towel on the ground and dropping heavily onto the couch next to the priest. “Neither of us want to end this.”

“No,” Anders agreed softly, too wrapped up in his somber thoughts to even be distracted by the man’s nakedness.

“Then,” Hawke started, putting a hand on the other man’s arm, “let’s start from there, okay? We know what we want… so let’s figure out how to make it work.”

Anders tilting his gaze towards him was enough permission for Hawke to tuck himself under his arm, the way they normally rested, bare shoulders pressed against Anders’ side, and the tension in the room eased a fraction. Huffing out a breath, Anders shook his head. “This is a mess.”

“Yeah, but it’s our mess,” Hawke said. “I’ve got no issue with what we’ve been doing, though I know you have more to worry about.”

“Like the fact that I’m not supposed to be doing this at all?” The priest raised a hand to stroke Hawke’s hair, almost automatically. “The more people that know about this, the more likely the Chantry will know, and they’d never tolerate the scandal,” he said bitterly. “This isn’t… something they’d forgive of me. Any good that I’ve done will be discounted so they can save face.”

“Then why stay with the Chantry? If you hate it so badly - “

Anders cut that off quickly. “You’re wrong, I don’t hate it. I joined for a reason, and I do a lot of good there. I bring people closer to Andraste and the Maker, I help them see Her light. I provide comfort, solace, support... I just can’t stand the politics and the prejudices sometimes. But it brings me happiness to make a difference to others who need it, do you understand? If they find out, if they force me out because of this, they’ll take everything: my priesthood, the clinic, all the good I can still do… not to mention my income and home.” The clinic worried him the most. All the people that he’d worked so hard to help, would they fall by the wayside again?

“You could move in with me,” Hawke suggested with a grin.

The statement was unexpected enough to break the priest from his troubled thoughts, and earned Hawke an incredulous noise and a tug on his hair. “That’s ridiculous,” he reprimanded, blushing.

Hawke shrugged against him, quietly happy the distraction had worked. “I thought you liked it when I was ridiculous.”

Anders sighed and kissed Hawke’s forehead. “I do. I like you far more than I should. Even when you’re a brat.”

The silence this time was comfortable, and although nothing had really been solved, they both felt a bit more relaxed. Eventually, Hawke turned the television on to serve as background noise for their individual thoughts, and after a time, having just blinked off another round of drowsiness, he noticed Anders’ breathing had slowed. He turned his head slightly to see that the man had dozed off, probably exhausted emotionally, although Hawke suspected the priest also kept himself far busier than he ought. He took the opportunity to wrap his arm around Anders’ waist, burrowing closer into his side, listening to him breathe and inhaling the way his scent mixed with Hawke’s laundry soap. It wasn’t long before he had drifted off himself.

When Hawke opened his eyes again, it was almost midnight, far later than Anders usually stayed. With the priest’s clothes still in the washer, there was only one reasonable option that presented itself, and Anders getting a neck cramp from sleeping on the couch wasn’t it. As Hawke extricated himself from Anders’ side, the other man blinked awake and looked around drowsily.

“Shit,” he said eloquently. “What time is it?”

“Late. Come on, come to bed. I’ll take care of your clothes.” Hawke offered a hand, and Anders took it, rising from the couch with a slight frown.

“But…”

“No arguing, I know how early you always wake up and you’re in no condition to drive home,” Hawke replied, tugging the priest towards his bedroom. Anders followed without further argument, apparently too tired to put up much of a fight.

After Anders had crawled into bed, Hawke returned to the hall to put the priest’s clothes into the dryer, and then to the living room to wait out the buzzer so he could hang them up, figuring that Anders showing up to the Chantry in wrinkled clothing wouldn’t be acceptable. That reminded Hawke of their delicate situation, and he frowned as he tried to distract himself from guilt and worry with terrible late-night television.

Before he finally joined Anders in his bed, Hawke opted to pull underwear on, not wanting to push his luck after the way they’d left things. He lay on his side facing Anders, watching the way he relaxed in sleep, listening to the soft, steady breathing, and debating whether or not he could move closer. After a few minutes of hesitation, Hawke pressed up against Anders’ back, sliding an arm around the priest’s waist and holding him loosely. Anders shifted a little in his sleep; Hawke felt the man’s pleased hum vibrate through his chest, and he pressed a chaste kiss to Anders’ neck.

* * *

After years of rising with the dawn, Anders didn’t need an alarm to wake him in the morning, and usually didn’t linger in bed when there was work to be done. But upon waking in an unfamiliarly comfortable bed with Hawke’s warmth against his back, and after breathing through a surge of confusion and panic while remembering how he’d gotten there, Anders was more than tempted to give in to his romantic side and stay where he was. Today was his day off - for whatever little purpose the title served since he always spent the time at his clinic - and there wasn’t the same urgency to get moving that he’d feel on the days he worked at the Chantry.

The previous night had been exhausting, in every way, and the priest’s brow furrowed as he stared at the faint light haloing the curtains in front of the window. Hawke had been emotional from the beginning, filled with remorse and fear and even blaming himself for Anders’ withdrawn state, but it wasn’t fair for the man to take on that burden. Anders was the one who disobeyed the Maker with every meeting, he was the one who should be keeping his vows in mind, and he was the one who had allowed things to progress so dangerously far.

He shivered at the memories, how trading fantasies had led to his hand around Hawke, coaxing him to release in his lap while the man writhed; Hawke’s hand around his cock in return, as amazing as he’d ever dared to think it might be, coming hard with Hawke’s lips and breath against his neck. It had been wonderful, but Anders knew with a twist of regret that it shouldn’t have happened. For all the issues he had with the way the Chantry operated, he still served the Maker, and the vow of celibacy that he’d taken had been a promise of focus that he could no longer pretend he wasn’t betraying.

With Hawke rekindling his emotions, reminding him that he didn’t have to spend his life in loneliness, the thought of going back to how things were before was dreadful. If the Maker could truly see everything, surely He could see that Anders wasn’t disobeying out of spite, and perhaps would understand his guilt and longing and how they warred with his devotion. Why the Maker would want to deny affection and companionship to His servants had never crossed his mind before, but Anders pushed those thoughts aside. He wouldn’t start questioning that, not on top of everything else.

Anders sighed, trying to stop his mind from spinning with doubts and emotions. He knew that he should go, and he scolded himself for getting lost in his thoughts and enjoying the comfort of Hawke’s bed while there was work to be done. He shifted a bit, reluctantly testing Hawke’s arm draped across his waist, only to have it tighten around him as Hawke mumbled into his ear, “No.”

Anders couldn’t help but smile at the protest. “No?” he asked, covering Hawke’s hand with his own.

“‘s too early,” the man said, voice rough with sleep, spreading his fingers to tangle them with Anders’.

“For you.” Hawke’s solid warmth wasn’t helping his reluctance to move; as hesitant as he was to accept the man’s affection, Anders couldn’t deny how much he’d missed simply being held like this. “Sloth is a sin, remember?”

Hawke scoffed and kissed Anders’ shoulder. “It’s your day off, no ‘sin’ talk unless it’s the fun kind,” he protested sleepily. “You could use a break. Stay here.”

Anders shook his head, as tempting as the offer was. “I still have to go to the clinic, they need…” His voice trailed off into a surprised, pleased noise when Hawke’s other hand threaded through Anders’ hair, dislodging the elastic keeping half of it back and running his fingers through the strawberry-blond strands.

“Hmm? They need what?” Hawke asked coyly.

“...that’s cheating,” Anders grumbled, only a token protest, and melted into the touch.

“I had no idea you were such a cat.” Hawke chuckled against his back, massaging the priest’s scalp. “I’ve never seen your hair down before. It’s a bit wrecked from being tied all night, but it’s nice.”

Anders hummed in response, his eyes drifting closed as Hawke’s fingers sifted through his hair, but he frowned as he remembered their unresolved conversation. Not wanting to leave with that still hanging between them, Anders squeezed Hawke’s other hand where it lay against his stomach and said, “I meant that, last night, about not wanting to stop. I enjoy this, I enjoy being with you. I just worry that soon... I won’t have the luxury of a choice.”

Hawke was silent for a few moments, and the priest would have worried that he’d fallen back asleep if not for the hand petting his hair. There was a sigh against his neck and the man shifted, pulling Anders as close as he could, until the full length of Hawke’s body rested against him. “I know, and we’ll be more careful. I don’t want you to lose your work for my sake. And you know how much I enjoy this, so that part goes without saying.” Anders’ hair ruffled as Hawke breathed a laugh. “Think it’s a bit much to pray to the Maker for this one?”

The noise that Anders gave in reply was full of both incredulousness and disgust. “Impossible brat,” he said, and brought Hawke’s hand to his lips.

“ _Your_ impossible brat,” the man countered.

Anders felt the words resonate through his skin, shivery warmth filling him as he felt Hawke’s breath against his ear, and was made keenly aware of just _how much_ of Hawke’s body was rubbing against him. “I thought this was too early for you?”

“Mmm, waking up now,” Hawke murmured, kissing Anders’ shoulder again. “You sure you don’t want to stay? At least for a little while?”

And that, unfortunately, meant that he really should be leaving, lest he abandon all sense of responsibility and fuck Hawke into the mattress as he was suddenly badly tempted to do. The idea of Hawke sleepily compliant underneath him nearly melted Anders’ resolve. This time, easing out of Hawke’s grasp was simpler, as the man didn’t fight him and only gave a disappointed sigh when Anders sat up, untwisting his saint’s amulet until it hung correctly. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t.”

Instead of using words to challenge the decision, Hawke rolled onto his back and stretched, long and obvious, arms above his head with the blankets rumpled around his hips. He gave Anders a lazy smile as the priest’s eyes trailed across his body, a smile that turned into a gasp as Anders moved suddenly, straddling Hawke’s waist and pinning his arms to the bed.

“Are you going to keep teasing, or are you going to be a good boy and let me go?” Anders asked silkily.

Hawke couldn’t help rolling his hips up to let his morning erection grind against Anders, the priest’s nails digging into his forearms in response. “This isn’t really a deterrent, and you know it,” Hawke replied with a grin. “I’m _always_ going to tease, because you love it.”

Anders smirked. “And I’ll always punish you for your insolence, because you need it.” He bent to kiss Hawke, far too briefly for both of them, and climbed out of bed.

* * *

Later, when Hawke had gone back to sleep and awoken at a more reasonable hour - noon - he called Bethany, arranging to meet her for lunch at a café just a short ways from his house. They hadn’t exactly parted in the best of moods after her birthday, and he wanted to spend some quality time with his sister.

He was looking the wrong way when she arrived, and only the sudden sound of rapid footsteps prepared him for the impact to his back as Bethany launched herself at him, laughing as she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms round his shoulders. “Bethy!” Hawke roared, spinning, but of course she hung on.

“Got you, asshole!” she snickered, reaching up to pinch at an ear. He moved to pin her back against the restaurant’s wall and she relented, loosening her grip and sliding to the ground. When he turned to face her, hands on his hips, she was smoothing her clothing, a look of mock solemnity on her face in contrast to her eyes, sparkling with mischief.

Hawke sighed. “Must you?”

As she passed him, heading into the doors of the cafe, she patted his arm consolingly. “You can take it, Garrett. Unless you’ve stopped perfecting your body for all those handsome men.”

“My body is not for my _sister_ to climb like a _tree_ ,” Hawke objected, following her in.

They were seated quickly, and Bethany raised her eyebrow at him as she settled into the booth, her tone automatically becoming more pleasant with people surrounding them. “You’re lucky I only have evening classes on Thursdays. What was the big rush?”

“I can’t just take my baby sister out to lunch?”

“I’d have insisted you take me somewhere more expensive if I knew you were paying for it,” she said cheerfully, and smiled at his scowl.

He shook his head, changing tactics. “There’s no rush,” Hawke said, glancing over the menu. “Just… I’m sorry for Tuesday.”

Bethy blinked in surprise, then shrugged, looking away. “Nothing to be sorry for. Birthdays aren’t exactly something to celebrate any more, but mother does insist.”

“Anything to keep her happy, right?” They shared a confidential smile, and then Hawke reached out, putting one of his hands over his sister’s. “I want you to be happy, though, Bethy. Are you? Do you need anything? Are you seeing anyone yet?”

She sent him a scathing look, but turned her hand to squeeze his. “‘Seeing someone’ is not the goal of life, Garrett, and no, I’m not fucking anyone yet either, thank you. I’m fine, brother, I can take care of myself.”

The conversation paused briefly while the waiter arrived to distribute water and take their orders. When Bethany turned back to look at her brother again, his expression was serious. “I’m definitely going to the Void when I die, Bethy, I’m in such trouble.”

“Aren’t you always?” The words were light, but she was practiced at reading her brother’s emotions, and tilted her head in concern. “What’s going on?”

For a moment, Hawke considered it. Two people already knew about him and Anders, and it would be so nice to have someone he could actually talk to about it - but no. It wasn’t a secret he could give away, especially not after Anders’ panic the night before, no matter how much he trusted his sister. So he smiled ruefully, saying, “Nope! No, I think I’m keeping this particular piece of trauma to myself.”

Bethany narrowed her eyes at him, concern morphing into suspicion, though she didn’t know quite yet what she ought to be suspecting him of. “Really,” she said, deadpan.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

He said it to get a rise out of her, and it worked, as she kicked out at his calf viciously. “Excuse you, jackhole!”

Hawke chuckled, teasing, “Language, Bethy! Don’t you remember nobody can know about your swearing habit?”

Bethany took a glance around before she smiled sweetly. “Fuck you.”

“There’s the sweet sister I know and love.” He returned the smile, but still felt tense and tempted. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to have just _one_ more person in the loop, someone he could actually confide in…

Echoing his thoughts, Bethany said accusingly, “You don’t keep secrets from me, Garrett.”

“First time for everything,” he shrugged, then raised his eyebrows. “If we’re harping on secrets, though, why don’t you tell me how you’re _really_ feeling about Carver?”

His sister winced. “Touché. How about that subject change?”

“Hmm. How’s pre-law going?”

She waved that off as their food arrived: a panini for Hawke, a pasta salad for her. “Fine. Nothing special. Just as simple as school has always been, so I’m thinking of taking some extra-curriculars.” As her brother nodded, Bethany looked up and met his eyes. “It’s fine, Garrett, really. I miss him. But I don’t think you ever truly stop missing a person, especially not…” Pausing, she swallowed, and shrugged, toying with a fork. “We went through this with dad, right? We’ll be all right.”

“I’m sorry,” Hawke couldn’t help saying, and she shot him a sharp look.

“You still think that, don’t you? Oh, Garrett.” Food as yet untouched, Bethany set her fork down and reached out, grabbing Hawke’s hands in hers, forcing him to look at her. “It’s still not your fault, you know. It never was. Please try to believe me.”

Her tone was half-scolding, half-plaintive, and though he wasn’t fully convinced of her words, it helped. Hawke tried on a confident smile, and she relented, squeezing his hands before releasing them to take up her utensils again. “At least stop avoiding me and mother! We don’t see you much since you moved into that house all by yourself. It must be lonely, and bartending can’t keep you _that_ busy.”

Lonely? That was a misconception he’d dearly like to dispel. The smirk this time was real, knowledge he couldn’t share shining in Hawke’s eyes, and he picked up his sandwich. “I’m fine, Bethy. Promise. But I’ll try to visit more.”

* * *

As far as Hawke could tell by the dilapidated state of things when he’d visited, none of his family’s donations to the Chantry were making it anywhere near Anders’ clinic. He didn’t know what was being done with them, and he couldn’t threaten to withdraw them completely without horrifying his mother, but he intended to investigate.

Saturday afternoon before work found him meeting the Revered Mother as he’d scheduled through Anders. Hawke gave a nod to the priest when he spotted him across the nave as he headed up the stairs to the clerical offices.

Leliana welcomed him in warmly as they exchanged pleasantries, and he politely refused her offer of a glass of water before they seated themselves on opposite sides of her desk. Settling her robes around her, Leliana folded her hands on the wood between them and gave Hawke a cool smile. “What can the Chantry do for you, Mr. Hawke?”

“I finally got the chance to go through the documents I asked you for a few months ago, tallying my family’s donations?” When she nodded, he continued, “Quite a lot of it seems to be going to the Chantry’s upkeep, and very little to the shelter in Darktown, St. Surana’s. Now, I know mine isn’t the only family providing donations, and that the Chantry does require wages and maintenance and things, but I’d like to see that percentage change.” It felt strange to call Anders’ clinic by its given name, but he couldn’t exactly use the other man’s personal nickname for it here.

She regarded him for a moment, lips pursed. “The decisions for where to send donations rests higher than my station, Mr. Hawke. You must know you cannot dictate what is done with them.”

“No, of course not,” Hawke soothed. “And I would never stoop so low as to threaten to remove my family’s donations if the Chantry doesn’t do what I think is right. But surely my preference means something.”

For some reason, that charmingly veiled threat made the Revered Mother smile. “You’d like to see St. Surana’s funded better, then? Do you have a personal attachment to the work it does?”

Hawke raised his eyebrows, suddenly wary at her tone, but there was no way she could suspect his motivations. “Something like that, yes. I know what it’s like to struggle. The work they do is important to the people of Kirkwall.”

“I agree. I’ll bring it up with the Grand Cleric. Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”

“A few details, is all.”

They spoke a little while longer, and Hawke got the feeling that Leliana was warming up to him. It was a struggle to keep his face straight when he informed her that he was, in fact, attending confession regularly, but she thankfully didn’t seem to notice.

Afterward, she escorted him to the top of the steps leading into the main Chantry, and Hawke’s gaze automatically searched out Anders as he descended. The priest was replacing some of the candles behind the altar, the only figure in sight, and he turned as he heard Hawke approach, eyes narrowing slightly in warning.

“Mr. Hawke,” Anders greeted him politely when he stopped a few feet away.

The room echoed, so Hawke kept his voice carefully quiet. “I missed you at the bar yesterday. Not avoiding me, I hope?”

Anders’ mouth twitched, like he was trying to hide a smile, and his voice lowered to match Hawke’s. “I’m not avoiding you, no. I’m sorry I gave that impression. I didn’t exactly want to see your coworkers, is all.”

“Right.” Hawke wrinkled his nose. “I won’t stay. I just wanted to see you.” Though there was still nobody else in sight, and his fingers twitched to touch, Hawke restrained himself to patting Anders on the shoulder, as if in a friendly gesture. Anders’ brow furrowed; Hawke winked at him. “Text me, yeah?”

When Anders only shook his head with a tiny smile, Hawke laughed and showed himself out.

* * *

**Sunday**

> 3:35pm Anders: _You really need to stop winking at me like that during Mass. It’s distracting._
> 
> 3:42pm Hawke: _Aw but i like seeing you up there all hot and in charge_
> 
> 3:43pm Hawke: _Makes me think the filthiest things like crawling under your robes while youre in the pulpit_
> 
> 3:45pm Anders: _Don’t you dare._
> 
> 3:51pm Hawke: _;) confessionals much more fun anyway_
> 
> 4:01pm Anders: _No._
> 
> 5:13pm Hawke: _You were having plenty of fun from what i saw_
> 
> 5:14pm Hawke: _From what i could see on my knees_
> 
> 6:34pm Anders: _You do look good on your knees, and likely better with your hands tied behind your back. Won’t have to worry about seeing when you’re wearing a blindfold._
> 
> 6:35pm Anders: _All you’d need to do is feel._
> 
> 7:15pm Hawke: _Fuck yes let me suck you like that please_
> 
> 8:03pm Anders: _Perhaps. Maybe I’d just trace your lips with my thumb and have you suck on my fingers while I spank you._
> 
> 8:04pm Anders: _You’d have to beg nicely for me, and then maybe if you’re good I’ll let you. I’d hold your mouth open and press between your lips until I’m in your throat._
> 
> 8:46pm Hawke: _Ive been hard all fucking night can i touch myself please_
> 
> 8:50pm Anders: _I don’t know if you’ve been good enough for that._
> 
> 9:24pm Hawke: _Ive been so good i promise and all i can think about is you fucking my face please im so fucking hard_
> 
> 9:27pm Anders: _Fine, you have permission for that, but not to come. I don’t want you doing that until I see you next._
> 
> 9:29pm Hawke: _Oh fuck no please_
> 
> 10:16pm Hawke: _Fuck are you home yet_

The priest purposefully ignored Hawke’s last message until he’d settled in for the evening, then texted Hawke back with an affirmative while laying across his worn couch in more comfortable clothes. It took less than a minute for his phone to ring in response, and he smirked and answered with a falsely put-out sigh. “Yes?”

Hawke didn’t sound appropriately desperate yet, but he rushed out, “I’ve been thinking about you all day, how much I want to be on my knees for you and have you use my throat, please let me come tonight, Father. Please.”

“Are you still at work?” Anders asked casually.

“No, we close early on Sundays, liquor laws or some shit, I’m naked on my bed and stroking myself.”

“Good.” The hand not holding his phone rested on his chest, and he ran his fingers over his nipple through his t-shirt. “Stop.”

“...What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” Hawke let out a whimper and Anders heard him release a shaky breath. “I bet you stripped and went right to it, didn’t you? Eager. I want you to tease yourself, like I would if I were there. You can be patient for me, can’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good boy. Now put me on speakerphone and I’ll tell you what I want.”

There were a few noises as Hawke set his phone down, and then his voice, changed in quality but still breathless. “Okay.”

“Mm, good.” Anders smiled. “Rub your nipples for me. Just rub, don’t tug, slow circles like I had you tied down and wanted to drive you mad from it. I want you to tease yourself. Brush your palms over them and slide your hands down your stomach, and then start again.”

Anders closed his eyes to better imagine it as he listened to the soft sounds from the other end of the phone, the way Hawke’s breathing changed as he obeyed, the almost inaudible scuff of skin on skin. He could nearly see the way the man’s chest would heave, the way his expression would beg inaudibly for more.

After only a few minutes, Hawke begged predictably, “Can I have more?”

“My impatient boy,” Anders teased. “Are you hard?”

“I’ve been hard all day, what kind of question is that?”

“If you talk back to me again, I’m hanging up, and you get nothing,” he growled, and Hawke whimpered in response. “You were curious if I could make you come like this. Do you want to find out?”

There was a low curse, and Anders imagined Hawke arching his hips off the bed. “Yes, please.”

“Good, but I’ll save that for later. For now, you may pull your rings as hard as you like, and then I want you to run your hands over your hips. Trace along your hipbones and pretend it’s my mouth on you.” Anders mimicked the command, fingers tracing along the waistband of his briefs, and waited until heard a stuttered moan from Hawke before continuing. “Now your thighs: drag your nails across your skin and tease close to your cock, but don’t touch.”

The hiss of breath over the phone was what made him give in, and Anders’ hand slid underneath the fabric to grip his cock, already hard from imagining what Hawke was doing to himself at his command. The added memory of Hawke's fingers wrapped around him urged him on, but he waited for Hawke to ask for more first.

“Please, can I touch my cock?” The inevitability of Hawke’s pleading made Anders smug.

“Are you desperate enough for it?” Anders asked, breath hitching as he slowly stroked himself. “Is your cock nice and wet for me already?”

“Yes, fuck, I’m so hard and fucking leaking, and fuck, you’re jerking off, aren’t you?”

Anders gave a soft laugh and tightened his grip. “You sound so hurt.”

“No, I just… shit, I want to do it with you, I want to listen and fuck my fist while you come, _please._ ”

The priest bit back a groan as his hand sped up, picturing Hawke desperately digging his nails into his thighs while Anders pleasured himself. “The things you say, pet. Can you hold off, if you do? You’re always so sensitive.”

“I can, I will, please, Father.”

And there was the distressed edge to his voice that Anders was waiting for, making him sigh in satisfaction. “Touch yourself, then, but don’t you dare come.”

“Fucking thank you,” Hawke moaned in relief.

Anders’ fingers worked faster as he heard the man’s breath go ragged, and imagined Hawke on his back, a hand wrapping around his cock and his hips jerking up to meet each stroke. Anders’ hips rocked against his own hand and he licked his lips, allowing himself to make soft, breathy noises for Hawke’s benefit.

“Yeah, let me hear you, please,” Hawke begged. “I love your voice, talk to me, please.”

A quick movement had Anders’ hand pulling at his briefs to lower them on his hips, letting his cock spring free, and his fingers smeared precum down his shaft as he resumed his steady, hard rhythm. “Just imagine if I were there with you, teasing you while I got off, and all you could do was watch. I’d tie you up and jerk off on you, soak you in it and rub it all over you until you scream in frustration, oh _fuck_.” Anders legs trembled at the fantasy, and Hawke’s needy cry at the words had him coming with a low groan, catching it in his hand as he shook with pleasure.

Hawke was already pleading before he could even catch his breath. “Ahh...oh, please, please can I come, please, I’m so close!”

“Not yet,” Anders replied teasingly, taking the time to readjust his clothing before answering. Reluctantly, he got up from the couch and walked to the bathroom. “I think you can wait a little longer.”

A desperate, hissed stream of curses came from the phone, and Anders laughed and set it down while he cleaned up. When he held the phone to his ear again, Hawke was reduced to incoherent whimpers and whines. “You’re being very good for me,” he purred, relishing the pained noise it evoked. “Do you want to come?”

“ _Please_ , please Father, let me please…”

“Move your hand faster.” Anders waited another torturous minute, enjoying the sounds Hawke made as he tried to hold off, then his voice was dark and commanding: “Come for me.” He didn’t move the receiver from his ear at Hawke’s choked scream, instead letting it pierce through him, hoping he could remember it fondly later.

Hawke’s voice was raspy when he spoke again. “Fuck, we need to do this more.”

Anders scoffed and shook his head, adding for Hawke’s benefit, “We could, if you didn’t work so late. Do you feel better now?”

“Yeah.” A pause, and Anders could hear the grin in the man’s voice. “Better if it was your hand around me.”

“Hmm, likewise,” he agreed, oddly without any guilt at the thought. “We’ll have to take what we can get.”

“Yeah we will, I’ll take all you give me.”

“Ridiculous man,” he sighed. “I need to sleep. I’ll talk to you soon, Hawke.”

“You’d better. Good night, Anders.”


	19. Chapter 19

_When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.  When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze._

_Transfigurations 43:2_

 

More items were donated to the clinic the following week. As well as more blankets and food, a number of wrapped Satinalia gifts had been left; curious, Anders had opened one of them, and found a variety of children’s books. Merrill had been so excited that she immediately ran out to find a small Satinalia tree for the presents to sit under. It brightened the mood of the shelter considerably, and even Lirene acted more cheerful around the festive lights.

Anders still suspected that Hawke was behind the gifts and the continuous donations, though he had no proof, and resolutely refused to bring it up.

Hawke had certainly been eager to purchase anything Anders even idly mentioned for their time together, and after mulling over the offer, the priest had provided him with a list of suggestions, with the addition that Hawke feel free to get anything else he was curious about. So the priest wasn’t surprised when he arrived on Wednesday to Hawke presenting him with a large bag, looking very pleased with himself.

“I almost got one of everything,” Hawke said, grinning as Anders rolled his eyes and kissed him in greeting.

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” Anders took the bag to the couch, and Hawke perched next to him as he examined the contents. “You did well, this looks like everything I’d asked for.”

Hawke smiled proudly, inwardly both excited and apprehensive at what he’d been ordered to acquire. Out of everything that Anders had listed, it was the collar that had been on his mind since he’d made the purchases. As appealing as having something around his neck was, the added implications that the collar held - discipline, submission, _ownership_ \- set his pulse racing.

Anders’ eyes widened as he found what had been weighing down the bag: a red, glass-encased religious candle, with a painting of Andraste on the label. He gave Hawke a wry look, and the man laughed.

“Maybe I got that for your reaction. But also, you know. Wax.” Hawke wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Anders pursed his lips thoughtfully. “The paraffin burns at a lower temperature with those, so they’re actually ideal for beginning wax play, although we may have trouble with your fur.” It was Hawke’s turn to look shocked, which quickly devolved into more laughter. “Oh, stop it, you brat.”

“I can’t… are you serious? The _irony_. How do you know that?”

“Do you need to ask?” Anders replied, and tossed the bag at Hawke. “For the record, I’ve never _used_ one for that sort of thing. I should be glad the Maker’s turned His eyes away from us to avoid seeing such sacrilege.”

If anything, that made Hawke more amused. “Well, if he’s not looking, then we can do whatever we like.”

Anders was about to voice a protest, but thought better of it at that cheeky grin. Deciding this was hardly the time for a sermon, he instead brought his hand to Hawke’s throat, feeling the surprised gasp under his palm. “You’re being exceptionally impudent today. Are you that enthusiastic about being punished, now that I have all these wonderful things to use on you?”

The only reply was a whimper, and Anders smirked and opened his mouth to say more, but the doorbell interrupted him.

Both men looked at each other in alarm, Anders’ face going pale, and Hawke immediately sprung from the couch and shoved the bag of toys behind it, darting his eyes around for anything else implicating.

A knock, this time, and Hawke looked between Anders and the door, as the priest had the sudden thought of hiding in the closet like a teenager, caught out by their parents. Hawke peeked through the spyhole and cast a frantic, warning look back at where Anders was just starting to stand from the couch, silently mouthing, “It’s my sister!” The priest’s eyes widened, and he nervously went about setting his clothing to rights, sitting back on the couch, trying frantically to come up with an excuse for being at the man’s house.

As if on cue, Hawke heard a muffled voice call, “Garrett?” and froze. _Shit. Shit shit shit Andraste’s blazing tits._ He took a breath to compose himself and called through the door, “Bethy, it’s not really a good time!”

Anders winced at Hawke’s supreme lack of subtlety, while Bethany was undeterred. “Eww, are you naked?” she asked. _Say yes, say anything to get her to leave, for the love of the Maker and sweet baby Kristoff._

“Uh… yes.” Hawke sounded unsure of himself. “Come back later.”

“You’re messing with me! Let me in, it’s cold. Do you have a guy over or something? Do you want me to keep shouting through the door?!”

Hawke panicked, yelped, “No!” as he pulled the door open, and then winced and wondered if that were the right decision. Seeing Bethany’s raised eyebrow only made him blush and stutter. “There’s nobody - I mean, there’s nothing wrong. You just… startled me.” Painfully aware of the line of sight between the door and his living room, he grimaced and desperately didn’t glance behind him.

Finally coming to a decision, a cover story that he hoped would be suitable enough, Anders sighed and stood. “Let the poor girl in, Mr. Hawke.”

Bethany’s face twisted in a curious blend of confusion and suspicion as she stepped inside, glancing between the two of them. “Garrett, _what the fuck_.”

“It’s nothing,” Hawke said weakly, closing the front door behind her, but Anders was already taking charge, sweeping forward and helping her with her jacket as she eyed Hawke.

Anders smiled benevolently, gesturing to the living room seating. “We were just discussing the Hawke family donations to the Chantry. Would you like to join us?”

That was a good excuse. That was a _wonderful_ excuse, and Hawke hoped desperately that Bethany didn’t realize that even the Revered Mother had no authority over the donations, much less the priests, as he headed to the kitchen to fetch some glasses in the hopes of making this seem like a pleasant meeting. It didn’t hurt that the activity got him out from under that suspicious glare.

When he returned, clutching three glasses of ice water, Bethany had seated herself, purse in her lap, on the edge of one of the chairs, and Anders had taken the other, smile frozen on his face. Hawke avoided his eyes, setting the water on the coffee table. “So, uh. What’s up, Bethy?”

“I came to visit my most innocent older brother, is all.” She tilted her head, black hair sliding over her shoulders. “I did text you first. Repeatedly. I guess you were _busy_.”

Hawke couldn’t help it; he flushed again, and hid it with a grimace. “Bureaucracy, right? So boring you don’t notice anything else.”

Anders added smoothly, “If you had any input on where you’d like the family donations to be applied, I’d love to hear it.”

Hawke had figured it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened, and it only took one more anxious glance shared between the two of them, Hawke nervously grinning and Anders slightly pink. Bethany let out a loud, drawn-out sigh, and took a swipe at her brother’s head with her purse.

“Not _again_ , you fucking idiot!” she yelled, swinging at Hawke again while Anders recoiled in his chair.

Hawke’s hands were held up defensively against the onslaught as he stammered, “We were talking about _donations_ and nothing was _happening_ , how dare you scandalize the good Father’s name!”

Bethany wasn’t dissuaded from her outburst. “Oh sure, and I’m the Queen of Orlais, I can always see through your shit! I knew something was going on with you and the priest! Garrett, I _swear_ , what will mother say?! This is your fault, I know it, and you’re going to get the poor man kicked out of his calling!” She swung her bag at Hawke once more for emphasis, then glared at him angrily.

Her outburst stunned Anders into silence, and Hawke studiously avoided looking at the priest as he again protested, “I told you, we weren’t fucking doing anything!”

“I’ll believe that in the Void, Garrett, you’re so transparent it’s ridiculous.” She huffed and turned her gaze to Anders, who flinched. “You don’t have to cater to my brother’s ridiculous whims, you know. I'll keep this douchenozzle away from the Chantry.”

There didn’t seem to be any way to avoid it, now, and Anders cleared his throat delicately. “While I'm sure your brother appreciates your... very _violent_ interest in his love life…” She snorted, and he continued on, ignoring it. “That won’t be necessary. I’m perfectly capable of handling him.”

Bethany’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, while Hawke choked and turned crimson. Anders’ face remained impassive, and when Bethany seemed to finally be at a loss for words after that comment, Hawke broke out into a grin.

She made a disgusted noise and threw her hands up. “Wow, okay. I give up, you two made your own damn bed.” Looking Anders up and down, Bethy turned to her brother. “I’m not worried about him, but you! When was the last time you got tested, hm? Does this poor man even know where your ass has been?”

Hawke blanched, but mumbled, “Recently. A month ago. I’m not _stupid_ , Bethy.”

Bethany snorted and said sarcastically, “Thank the Maker for that.”

Afraid she’d leave at that, Hawke looked up. “Wait, Bethy, hold on, please tell me you’re not going to tell anyone. Please.”

His sister rolled her eyes. “Who would I tell? _Mother_? She’d have a heart attack. And it’s not my business to tell the Chantry what their priests do on their off-hours.” She pointed a finger at him sternly. “Do not beg me for anything, Garrett. I have heard you beg and I do _not_ want to remember that.”

Anders frowned at Hawke, and Bethany caught the look. “It’s not pretty. Or, you probably would think it was pretty, wouldn’t you? Never mind, don’t answer that, please.”

Steadfastly ignoring that last part, Anders asked, “What have you subjected your sister to?”

It was Hawke’s turn to throw up his hands. “Now you’re ganging up on me?”

“You deserve it, don’t even complain,” Bethany retorted.

“I’ve made terrible life decisions,” Hawke moaned.

With a flat look, Anders commented, “Woe is you. You have a sister who cares for you and a lover who makes you beg.”

That made Hawke pause, and then a slow smile spread across his face, eyes bright as he stared at Anders. “I have a what?”

Bethany looked like she was going to be ill. “Maker’s sake, I’m leaving before this gets grosser than it is already.” She stood and hoisted her purse onto her shoulder. “Good to see you, happy to see Father Not-Your-Lover, we’ll do this again sometime!”

“Or ideally, not,” Hawke muttered under his breath. He flinched back when Bethany whirled around.

“Don’t you fucking dare get caught,” she growled. “If you break mother’s heart, I will sodding throttle you, and _not_ in the fun way, don’t even start. You’re terrible at this.”

“It’s true,” Anders replied wryly. He didn’t trust the bright smile Bethy turned on him next.

“You run that shelter in Darktown, right? St. Surana’s? I’m sure it could always use some volunteers, and I’m looking for a nice extra-curricular activity to go on my resume.” Her expression dared him to object.

“We’re always happy to take on extra volunteers,” Anders said placatingly. She nodded, gave Hawke a look as he walked her to the door that implied she’d be _speaking to him later_ , and flounced out with her coat in hand.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Anders leaned forward on the couch and put his head in his hands, trapped between wanting to laugh hysterically and fly into a frustrated panic. Caught at Hawke's home, and nearly in the middle of something unexplainable, by the man's own sister. "Maker save me, is this really happening again?" he asked plaintively.

Hawke stared at the door, then glanced back at Anders, and forcibly shoved his own distress aside. "It's only Bethy," he said softly, almost to himself, and then walked over to kneel in front of Anders' shaking form. His hands hovered, but he didn't touch, not yet. "Hey, it's only Bethy. It's my sister. She's too smart for her own good and she yells and throws things, but she's my _sister_ , and she didn't say a damn thing to anyone when she caught me fucking my professor."

"Your _sister_ knows you're dallying with a priest, and almost interrupted something that she'd never forgive either of us for." Anders scoffed, and it turned into a nervous laugh. "And your _professor_ , honestly. You've never been very good at being careful, have you?" But it wasn't said in anger, only resignation; and he gave an exasperated groan.

Hawke winced, dropping his hands to his own lap. "I suppose not. She's the only one who caught us at that, though. She's... she'll be fine, Anders, I promise. We're close." Suddenly remembering, Hawke snorted. "Bethy already guessed something weird was going on way back when you gave her that note for me."

Hawke's words brought the memory back, the rushed message he'd given her all those weeks ago, and Anders flushed in embarrassment and leaned back, hands falling to his thighs. "That wasn't wise of me, was it? I didn't think." He gave a wry grin, and added, "Neither of us are good at this."

"I should be better at it, I've got experience hiding things." Hawke grimaced, then blinked, and looked up again at Anders with a trace of awe. "You told her you were my lover."

If it were possible to blush any more than he currently was, Anders didn’t know how. "Well... I am. Or at least that's what I assumed, certainly the activities that we've been doing imply that. If I made you uncomfortable..."

"Uncomfortable?" Hawke asked, with a burst of incredulous laughter. "I'm _delighted_. Thrilled. Positively giddy." He leaned forward and grinned up at where Anders ducked his head in embarrassment. "I'd go so far as to say you were my _boyfriend_ , if you didn't think it presumptuous."

"You already did. 'Random Boyfriend #5,' was it?" Anders reached out to brush his hand over Hawke's hair and had to stifle a wry grin. "One normally waits longer to introduce their family to a boyfriend."

Hawke rolled his eyes. "You see my family every week at the Chantry." Just starting to rise up on his knees for a kiss, Hawke paused. "Please don't wink at my sister like you do at Isabela."

Anders put a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I would never. What sort of man do you take me for?" The hand in Hawke's hair trailed down to his jaw, tilting his head up to kiss him, and Hawke melted into it.

Long moments later, Anders pulled back, and Hawke licked his wet lips, eyes gone dark. "We're okay, then?" he asked roughly, hesitant to bring it up when he knew it might mean they called tonight off.

"We're okay," Anders echoed with a smirk. "But you really shouldn't ignore your sister’s messages. That was quite lazy of you. Slothful, even." And that thought turned his smile wicked as a host of imagery formed in his mind, fingers against Hawke's neck shifting to subtly press around his throat. "I don't even think you need to confess this one, as I've seen the evidence myself."

Hawke's breathing immediately slowed as he tilted his chin up, pushing forward against Anders' palm. "Do I deserve to do penance, Father?" Hawke whispered, staring up through his lashes, praying silently that the priest would take him up on the fantasy they'd discussed on the couch two weeks ago, when Anders' hand had wrapped around his throat and he had asked Hawke to detail exactly what he wanted from it.

The priest slid off the couch in a smooth movement, pressing Hawke onto his back with the hand around his throat, straddling Hawke's waist and bracing his other arm to lean in close and watch the man's expression raptly. "You deserve so many things, pet," Anders purred. "Penance is just the beginning."

His fingers tightened, feeling Hawke's racing pulse against his thumb and forefinger as the man's hips jerked helplessly. "I'm going to punish you for your sloth; you'll be at my mercy, unable to act, because you were _unwilling_ to act. Do you think that's fitting?"

Words disappeared, Hawke's fingers digging into the carpet to either side of them as he panted, whined, unable to focus with that hand around his throat, holding him steady in mindless lust. He'd known he reacted well to this, but it was so much more with Anders, who commanded with his mere presence, who promised beautiful, dark things with his voice and his body.

The blond was expecting a response, and Hawke groped for something appropriate, finally gasping out, " _Please_ ," around the haze of dizziness and heat.

Anders gave a pleased hum and loosened his grip for a moment, pressing his hips down against Hawke's eager arousal. "Already wanting more, just from my hand around your neck. It's so lovely the way you fall apart for me," he said affectionately. As he leaned in and brushed his lips against Hawke's, the hand tightened again around the man's throat. Anders relished his involuntary gasp as his eyes glazed over again, and kissed him hard, drinking the air from his lungs.

What little rasping breaths Hawke was able to draw were lost into Anders' mouth as he forgot how to breathe through his nose. The world fuzzed, blood rushing in his ears, and when the priest released him again, Hawke became aware that he was bucking his hips up helplessly, seeking friction.

He stilled with effort, almost embarrassed at his own reaction, and shook his head dazedly. "You do this," he panted, hoping Anders would understand what he was trying to say. "Just you."

Anders' expression softened, and he was suddenly at a loss for words as he gazed down at Hawke, warmth spreading through him at the statement. His earlier tumultuous emotions were forgotten in the wake of his realization that this was no longer about _want_. Anders _needed_ Hawke, at his mercy or otherwise, needed anything and everything, needed to touch and kiss and claim like the man was an addiction that he was hopelessly lost to.

"Good," he finally managed, kissing Hawke's forehead before he moved to stand. "Go into the bedroom, strip, and kneel by the bed with my boots." The discarded bag was still shoved haphazardly between the wall and the couch, and he bent to retrieve it.

Letting out a shaky breath, Hawke climbed to his feet, body moving smoothly despite the tremor of arousal in his limbs. He cast Anders a glance before he headed down the hallway, patting his hair absently. Quite a few new toys were in that bag, and Hawke looked forward to Anders' creativity; penance between them had never been much of a punishment, more of a game, even if the last time may have turned out poorly.

Clothing tossed aside with a careless hand, Hawke touched his fingertips to his throat and smiled as he knelt by the leather boots that were already standing proudly by the foot of his bed, wondering what Anders would do if he knew Hawke kept them there, waiting, a promise and a reminder.

Anders paused in the hallway and opened a closet door, guessing correctly where Hawke stored linens. "I need a sheet or a blanket you don't mind ruining to use as a dropcloth," he called.

"Um, there's a blue blanket on the top shelf, that's fine," was the response. He grabbed it and entered the room, depositing the bag on the dresser, then spread the thin blanket over Hawke's bed.

"It's like you're going to paint me," Hawke said with a grin as the priest smoothed the blanket out.

"You're not far off." Anders looked Hawke over, then approached and ran his fingers through Hawke's hair. "You'll make a beautiful canvas."

Hawke hummed happily, closing his eyes at the pressure on his scalp, and when Anders sat on the bed in front of him, he slid the boots on with as much reverent care as always. As he tightened the laces, he kissed the top of each leather boot individually, then sat back to admire the vision of command the priest made.

The lingering smile was wiped away when Anders leaned forward in turn, the black collar Hawke had bought already in his hand. Licking his lips nervously, Hawke tilted his chin up, and was rewarded with an approving murmur as the priest wrapped the collar around his neck and buckled it on, tested the fit with two fingers, and settled the heavy steel ring evenly in place. When Hawke swallowed, he could feel the leather move over his throat, tight enough to feel it but not enough to be restrictive. He shivered, though the metal was already warming to his skin.

With a wordless little whimper, Hawke bent closer to rest his forehead on Anders' knee, unable to articulate quite what this was doing to him. It went far beyond turning him on; there was a sense of peace, of coming home, almost as if he were pulling on his proper skin after existing his whole life without. He felt the edges of the world dull, until there was only Anders above him, and himself, naked on his knees, eager to obey anything that was asked of him.

Anders watched with a thread of wonder how easily Hawke settled into the collar, saw the invisible weight of his worries lift from his shoulders as he sank surprisingly rapidly into his headspace, and he gently ran his fingers through the man's dark hair as he took a steadying breath of his own. He'd known submission came naturally to Hawke, despite his insolent behavior, but it never failed to make Anders ache each time the priest coaxed it from him. The collar was a visible, constant reminder of his place in their games, and something primal and possessive set Anders’ blood alight with desire at the sight of Hawke wearing it.

"You're perfect," Anders murmured after he'd collected himself, tightening his fingers in Hawke's hair and tipping his head back to look down into his dark, glazed eyes. "I want you to lay on the bed, on your back, hands over your head and your legs spread."

The praise settled over Hawke like a warm blanket, and he followed Anders' directions languidly, stretching his naked body across the bed. A spark of his normal insouciant brattiness resurfaced at the opportunity to show himself off, and he watched the priest as he turned the movement into a deliberate stretch, flexing muscles into an arch that he knew flattered his strong body, rumpling the spare blanket underneath him.

The fact that Hawke could still retain his love of showing off had Anders smirking, even as he stalked over to the bed with the bundle of rope in his hands. It was quick work to wind the silk cord around and between Hawke's crossed wrists, knotting the rope snugly. "Too tight?" he asked, and Hawke shook his head quickly.

Anders moved down the bed, pulling the lower set of straps from underneath the mattress and fastening one to each of Hawke's ankles. After ensuring Hawke was comfortable, Anders bent to the chest next to the bed and rummaged through until he'd found the blindfold, the gag, and a bottle of massage oil. He set all three items on the end of the bed so Hawke could see them. "I'm going to leave the room to fetch a few things. I'll be right back." He waited for a nod and a whimpered confirmation.

It was only a few minutes before Anders returned, long enough for Hawke to tug at the rope and the straps and settle himself further onto the bed, near trembling with curiosity and anticipation. When the priest re-entered the room, he carried a clinking glass of ice and a long grill lighter, setting the glass candle alight before he set everything on the end table and turned back to survey the man's body.

The next thing out of the bag was the set of nipple clamps Hawke had been specifically instructed to buy. Anders smirked as he toyed with them, snapping one of the clips idly, and Hawke took a shuddering breath. When the priest reached out, though, he snapped the first clamp closed on the ring of one of his piercings, and threaded the other end through the loop of his collar. Hawke's breath caught on a spike of pleasure as the chain tugged at the piercing, and he groaned when Anders did it again, deliberately.

"You're not going to be able to talk when I'm done trussing you up, pet," Anders said casually as he snapped the second clamp into place, leaving just enough tension that Hawke could feel the chain pull with every movement. He arched his chest up, once, just to feel it, and moaned softly. "So if you need me to stop, knock on the headboard twice. Understand?"

Anders' fingers toyed with the chain, tugging it gently and watching his face, until Hawke nodded, breathing, "Yes."

"Good boy," the priest said, and leaned to give Hawke's forehead a quick kiss. He returned to the dresser to find that the candle's flame had already begun melting the red wax, and rolled up his sleeves, looking over at Hawke while he did, the hunger in the man's eyes obvious. Anders muttered a prayer for forgiveness to Andraste under his breath as he raised the candle, holding out his other arm and tipping the candle slowly, the flame guttering as wax splashed across Anders' forearm. His hissed breath at the sudden heat was drowned out by Hawke's desperate curse, and Anders set the candle down, waiting until the wax cooled, peeling it off, and examining the skin underneath. Hot, yes, but not dangerous.

Anders took the candle to the bed and held it out, above Hawke's stomach. "I'm going to test this before I do anything else to you, while you can still speak. If it's too much, we'll set it aside."

"Please," Hawke said, then corrected himself when Anders arched an eyebrow at him. "Yes."

"Better," Anders said drily, and tipped the candle to spill wax across the hollow of Hawke's hipbone.

Wax was something Hawke hadn't had the chance to play with before, and he gasped as a sudden splash of heat bloomed across his hip, the dark paraffin forming a small pool before Anders righted the candle. He focused on his breathing for a moment, the chain shifting across his chest and tugging gently with every movement, until the wax cooled and started to harden, clinging to Hawke's skin.

Eventually, he nodded, but words. Anders liked words from him. "It's good."

The candle was set out of the way on the nightstand, and Anders picked up the blindfold from the bed, his movements assured and just slow enough to draw Hawke's anticipation out. "Do you remember what I told you to do, if you wanted to stop?"

"Knock twice," Hawke said, and reached higher up to demonstrate, letting out a whine as the chain pulled at his piercings.

"Excellent." The priest came close again, and Hawke lifted his head compliantly to let him tie the velvet across his eyes, fingers smoothing over his hair. "Are you ready to be at my mercy?"

"Fuck yes," Hawke breathed, and heard the soft breath of Anders' chuckle in response. A moment later, the ball of the gag was slipped between his teeth, smooth leather pad covering his lips, and the priest fastened it behind his head below the blindfold.

He wasn't truly helpless, but it felt close. Left in darkness, mute, legs held in place and wrists tied snugly together, Hawke took in a deep breath through his nose, distantly noting the sound of objects being placed on the nightstand. He made an exploratory noise, turning his head toward where he thought Anders might be, and shifted in the restraints, eager and on edge.

"Patience," Anders said soothingly, reassurance that he was still there as he finished setting the ice and oil on the nightstand, pulling it away from the wall for easier access. He took a long moment to appreciate the sight of Hawke bound and ready for him, then carefully knelt on the bed between Hawke's legs, coaxing them further apart with his knees, the intimate position fueling his anticipation, his cock already hard against the confines of his clothing.

The priest began with light touches across Hawke's dusky skin, tracing muscles with his fingers and brushing his palms down Hawke's thighs. Anders teased his nipples, rubbing circles and tugging the chains lightly; too light for Hawke's tastes, for now. Gentle caresses alone until Hawke moaned behind the gag, and then Anders smirked, dragging his nails hard up the man's thighs.

Hawke arched up, the sudden sharpness tearing through him after such light touches, and his legs jerked against the restraints with vague thoughts of wrapping them around Anders' waist. The aimless stimulation continued, then, each one impossible to predict; fingers stroking over his sides, dipping into his hipbones where the wax cracked and tugged; nails scraping up his chest and stopping just short of where he wanted them to land.

When Anders shifted between his legs, though, and wet heat landed on the arch of his hip, Hawke whined, unable to resist twitching his hips towards what he was sure was the man's mouth, gaining only a dark laugh in response. His cock lay heavy against his stomach, thick and aching for attention already, and Hawke could have sworn he felt breath gust over it before Anders slid his mouth upward, nails digging into his thighs as the priest bit down lightly on the muscles of his stomach.

It was so tempting to tease Hawke with his mouth, to run the tip of his tongue up the underside of his cock and feel it twitch under his lips, but the rational part of his mind resisted the urge; he was already deviant enough with his vows, he shouldn't compromise them further. Instead, Anders kissed a slow path up Hawke's chest, one hand caressing his thigh over the indentations from his nails as he held his balance with the other.

"You don't know how decadent you look," Anders murmured against Hawke's skin, lips agonizingly close to his taut nipple. "How many ways I want to touch and taste you." His tongue circled over the pierced nub as his hand trailed up Hawke's body and pinched its twin.

Already sensitive from the constant stimulation, Hawke jerked, moaning low in his throat as he tried to press his chest further into Anders' hands and mouth, wordlessly begging for more. He found he could pull on the piercings just a bit, just enough to tease himself further, if he strained his head back and arched his chest, but it was hard work. Teeth scraped over a nipple then, and Hawke cried out, writhing as both nipples were bitten and pulled mercilessly for an all-too-brief moment, sending shocks of pleasure straight to his cock.

Anders kissed the sensitive bud and brushed his thumb across the other, soft countering sharp; Hawke would be out of his mind with dueling sensations by the time the priest was finished. He brought his hand to Hawke’s face, tracing delicately along a cheekbone. “You asked me to ruin you, once before, and I intend to, so that all you can ever think of are the things I can do to you.”

Hawke made a strangled noise as Anders’ fingers pinched his nose shut, pressing his palm down against the material of the gag, sealing off his air for a few torturous seconds while his hips bucked. The priest smirked at Hawke's arousal hard against his stomach and withdrew his hand, purposefully bending low so the fabric of his shirt would slide against Hawke’s cock as he sank back on his knees, the man shivering and moaning against the gag.

The melting ice in the cup clinked as Anders let a cube fall onto his tongue, and he retrieved the massage oil, lips twitching at the scent of chocolate. Chances were the stuff wouldn't taste anything like it smelled, which was a shame. As the ice melted in his mouth, he opened the bottle and poured oil into his palm.

Too distracted to focus on what Anders might be doing when his hands weren't on him, Hawke sucked in a breath when the next time lips met his flesh they were _cold_ , an icy swipe across his flushed skin, as clever, slick fingers rubbed scented oil into his chest. Teasing again, and Hawke dug his teeth into the ball of the gag, trying to urge Anders closer, futile though he knew it would be. He was already desperate for a firm hand around his cock, and he knew there was more yet, taunted by the memory of the priest pouring wax over his own arm to test the heat.

Oil-slick hands swept down over the curve of his stomach, the planes of his thighs, and Anders' mouth was _so close_ ; Hawke was far too distracted by the idea of the priest turning his head and pressing those chilled lips to his shaft in an obscene kiss. He groaned, writhing under the attention, then shouted when freshly iced lips closed over the solid muscle of his chest, teeth scraping a mirror of the raking nails down his inner thighs.

If Hawke had his mouth free, he would plead, he would howl, he would say _something_ that would make Anders do more than this infuriating, wonderful teasing driving him higher into sensation, but all he could do was beg with his body and hope he was pleasing enough.

The oil left Hawke's skin slightly bitter, but Anders paid it no mind, and dragged his cold tongue across Hawke's nipple and down his side, breathing a laugh as Hawke squirmed and whined when his mouth reached the tuft of dark hair under Hawke's arms. The scent of sweat and musk, the taste of Hawke's skin on his tongue, and the plaintive noises that came through the gag all had Anders' cock throbbing. But he would wait, needing Hawke to shatter under his attentions first.

He sat back again, scraping his nails across the man's stomach as he took the flickering candle in hand, the wick popping against the melted paraffin. Hawke's breath hitched and he tensed automatically in anticipation while the priest placed a fresh ice cube in his mouth. Anders waited until Hawke's arms relaxed before tipping the candle, red wax dotting a line up his abdomen.

The sear of heat scorched Hawke's nerves after the cold, and he let out a shocked breath, pulling at the ties, bound arms curling over his face as his muscles jumped in response. The dribbling of wax over his skin seemed to go on for ages, although it must have only been several seconds, and when it finally let up, Hawke found himself panting, forced his hands back into position, relaxed his tense muscles. There was a long pause - Anders must have been waiting to see if he'd signal - and then another splash of stinging heat, down his unmarked hip, less startling this time but no less intense.

Cold, then, Anders' chilled tongue returning to trace over sensitized flesh, and Hawke sobbed into the gag. Distantly, he heard the candle pop again, the priest pulled away, and he tensed, anticipating - what, he didn't know, he could never anticipate what Anders had planned, but it certainly wasn't the sudden chill trailing up the underside of his flushed cock; a quick dart of sensation, it must have been one of the half-melted ice cubes, surely the priest wasn't in the right position to have put his _tongue_ there but Hawke didn't know, he couldn't keep track of it any more, and his hands splayed against the headboard above him, one solid anchor to keep himself in place.

Anders paused again, waiting to ensure that Hawke wasn't going to knock, the ice in his hand dripping across his fingers. After a moment he brought it back to Hawke's cock, running it slowly down the length of it as the man arched, Hawke crying out when the paraffin spilled across one nipple, then the other, the wax clinging to sensitive skin.

It was lovely seeing his handiwork, Hawke's taut muscles and heaving chest, skin spattered with red wax and lines from Anders' nails across his belly and thighs, his thick cock leaking and flushed. "I was right," Anders said, sultry voice loud in the quiet room, save for Hawke's panting breaths. "You make a beautiful canvas, pet." He extinguished the candle and set it on the table, discarding the half-melted ice on the blanket and running his fingers carefully up Hawke's chest.

"You've been so good for me, taking everything I give you," he purred, running his fingers along the chains connecting Hawke's rings to his collar, relishing the man’s answering shudder. "I'll give you what you want. Will you come for me like this, just from what I've done to you? If I keep pulling at these until you scream?"

Oh, Maker, Anders was going to make him come by tugging on his nipples, like Hawke had panted into his ear just the week before, wondering if he could do it. Some fractured portion of his mind noted that he should be careful what he brought up around the man. Hawke nodded dizzily, but thrust upward with a whimper, begging for more anyway.

Wax hardened and cracked over his sensitive nipples, almost pain as Anders began tugging purposefully on the chain, sliding the collar against his throat. Every movement reminded him of points of pleasure, the solidified wax splashed across his body, skin raked and worshipped and stinging with sensation, and Hawke rolled his hips with the rhythm the priest was building, tears of need beginning to wet the blindfold.

His orgasm came at him slowly, teased and coaxed closer with the pulse of Anders’ hands, sometimes harder, sometimes softer, but always in that inexorable cadence, until he was tense, trembling, frozen with his back in a sharp arch. Hawke let out a sob as he finally felt it crest, a shock of overwhelming pleasure bursting over him at his lover's hands.

Anders had been holding his breath, watching raptly as Hawke writhed and shivered, his own arousal forgotten in the wake of needing to see Hawke come undone. He continued teasing along the chain through Hawke's orgasm, then let his hands trail down his chest and reverently touched Hawke's trembling stomach, sticky with cum and smeared with wax. "Good boy," he murmured as he reached up to remove Hawke's blindfold first, wanting to see the dazed, sated expression in his eyes.

Hawke blinked at the light, shifted, and whimpered as a hundred different sensations vied for his attention. His face was flushed a deep red, tears still leaking slowly into his hair, and he sought out Anders' face immediately through the brightness, needing the contact, drinking in his pleased expression. When Hawke whined again and tugged at the rope binding his arms, Anders hushed him, making low soothing sounds as he went for the gag first, pulling it gently away, using a corner of the blanket to wipe at Hawke's face.

" _Anders_ ," was the first thing out of his mouth, voice low, raw and wrecked, which earned him a smile and a kiss on the forehead.

As soon as his arms were free, Hawke pulled the priest into an embrace, wincing at the ache in his shoulders. He trembled, holding on tightly, desperate for the closeness, and distantly wanted to apologize for taking such a liberty - not to mention potentially ruining Anders' shirt - but couldn't find the words.

Anders let out a startled noise as Hawke's arms wrapped around his waist and held him tight, but he could feel the tremor in Hawke's muscles, obviously overwhelmed and threatening to drop, and the priest instantly adopted a reassuring tone.

"Shh, it's all right, Hawke, I'm here." He kissed Hawke's lips, his cheeks, everywhere he could reach, arms bracing him upright next to Hawke's head as his fingers stroked his lover's hair. "You were perfect, you _are_ perfect, pet, and so good for me. It's okay, I've got you."

He continued his low, soothing praise as he pressed their foreheads together, kissing Hawke gently and petting his hair until Hawke's grip relaxed and his breathing steadied. "I need to untie your legs, pet, but then I'll come right back, alright?" Anders waited for Hawke's quiet affirmation before he moved down the bed, quickly removing the straps and then returning to his place between Hawke's legs, true to his word.

Hawke went to wrap his arms around Anders again as soon as he could, but the man hushed him and reached around to unfasten the collar first. A disappointed noise left Hawke’s lips as the collar left his throat, though he winced as the clamps were removed from his piercings in turn, and Anders dropped the whole contraption off the side of the bed.

A short while later, the mess over his torso and thighs brought Hawke back to the present, and he grimaced, forcing his arms to unlock. "I'm a mess," he rasped, surprised at how rough his voice was when he hadn't even been able to talk to ruin it. "Sorry. Your shirt... sorry. I don't know why..." A lone tear dripped down the side of his face, and he wiped it away, staring at his hand in bafflement.

"It's fine, I'm not worried about my shirt," Anders said with a smile, smoothing Hawke's hair back from his forehead. "After something so intense, it's normal for you to feel overwhelmed and emotional like this. You don't have to apologize; it's not something you have to control." He gently took Hawke's wrist and turned his hand, kissing his fingertips.

"At least you know what you're doing." They were pressed closer together than normal, and Anders' weight on top of him was soothing. A deep sense of relaxation spread through Hawke's body, and he fervently wished they could skip the cleanup, but he was sticky and covered in paraffin. Sighing, Hawke went to move, and noticed the firm press of Anders' arousal. "...you didn't get to come," he said in some surprise.

The priest shook his head, then gave a small shrug as he sat back on his knees. "I don't mind, really. I'm happy to take care of you. And you need to get clean, so you should go take a shower while I straighten up. The oil helps with the wax, but hot water will be what gets it out of your pelt," he said, smirking.

"You want me to stand?" Hawke stared down at him for a moment, then groaned as he laid back and closed his eyes. "There's no way. You'll have to carry me."

Anders snorted. "Yes, because _that's_ going to happen. I don't exactly have your physique, you know." He climbed off the bed and offered a hand to Hawke. "The more you sit with all that wax on you, the more uncomfortable you'll get. Come on."

Bits of wax crumbled and hit the blanket as Hawke let Anders help him up, and he grimaced. An attempt at wiping the wax away only created smaller bits, still clinging to his skin and hair. Hawke sent a pleading look at the priest, who rolled his eyes indulgently but led him gently into the bathroom, where Hawke started to adjust the tap for a shower.

Watching the water as it started to heat, Hawke said, "You could join me."

Anders blushed and shook his head, the thought of being naked with Hawke in such close confines both incredibly alluring and frightening. "I don't know if that would be wise," he said wryly.

"After all we've done?" Hawke finished setting up the shower, frowning at the shards of red littering the floor as he stood, turning, biting his lip deliberately. "I promise I'll be good."

Anders cocked his eyebrow in disbelief, but Hawke's expression was earnest, and part of him legitimately worried about Hawke retaining his wits after such an intense session. Mentally, he tried to come up with some other rationalization for it, but he knew it would be only a token excuse, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself.

"All right, fine,” Anders said on a sigh. Hawke's face lit up in a grin as the priest quickly disrobed before he could lose his nerve.

It was hard to believe this was the first time Hawke had seen Anders naked, they had done so much together. He raked his eyes down the priest's lithe form, watching him blush, and confirmed what he'd thought before - the man was far too thin. Still, he was gorgeous, and Hawke made an approving noise, then caught sight of the priest’s naked shoulderblade and exclaimed, “You have a tattoo!”

“A remnant of my wild youth,” Anders replied, turning so Hawke could see the small, elegant cat tattoo, inked in sweeping black lines and wearing a mischievous grin. Hawke burst into laughter, and Anders rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know, it wasn’t the smartest decision.”

“Maybe not, but it’s cute,” Hawke said, and winked before he stepped under the spray, trusting that Anders would follow.

Hawke certainly had no shame, but Anders was used to modesty after so many years. He pulled the symbol of St. Kristoff from his neck and set it on the counter, then entered, standing a bit awkwardly behind Hawke until he calmed himself. Watching the water pour across Hawke's skin, the man’s hands working soap over his body, quickly had him aroused again, but he ignored it and pressed a kiss to Hawke's shoulder. "Is the wax coming off?"

Scraping another glob of the tacky red mess off his chest as the paraffin melted under the heat, Hawke sighed. "Slowly, yes." He turned, and his eyes were immediately drawn to Anders' growing erection, although the pale hair and the freckles scattered across his body were a lovely distraction as well.

Hawke raised his eyes to Anders' face deliberately slowly, and darted his tongue out to lick his lips. "Still all right, Father?"

Heat lanced through Anders as he resisted the urge to close the small distance between them, painfully aware of the fact that he hadn't come during their session. "Perfectly fine," he answered, and offered a smirk. "I can't help what you do to me."

"I can," Hawke said, turning fully to face him, the wax almost gone, muscled body dripping with water as his eyes raked over Anders. He stepped forward and cupped Anders' jaw, stroked a thumb over his lips, nearly close enough to kiss when he continued in a low tone, "Let me help you."

That was all the coaxing the priest needed; whatever weak hesitations he had vanished as his hands gripped Hawke's shoulders, pulling him close and bringing their lips together in a deep, languid kiss, dizzy with lust. His back pressed against the cool tile as Hawke came forward, surrounding him, finally able to feel his heat against bare skin, and Anders let out a moan, breaking the kiss to murmur, "Touch me," against Hawke's lips.

Hawke's hand closed around him with no reluctance, palm gliding easily over Anders' shaft, slick from the shower and the residue of melted wax. He braced himself against the tiles, staring down between them. Then Anders' hand joined his, guiding him to move faster, harder, and Hawke stifled his heady moan on the priest's shoulder.

Anders groaned, their hands working in tandem so amazingly good that he closed his eyes and lost himself to the sensations for a moment. When Hawke sank to his knees, Anders' eyes widened, anxiety blooming fast at the fear that Hawke would overstep and he'd be unable to resist, but his lover only pressed a kiss to his hip and then rested his cheek against it, eyes fixed to where his hand still slid over Anders' cock. And that, the certainty that Hawke would tease and beg but never _act_ without his approval, sent a new wave of pleasure through the priest, and the hand not linked with Hawke's moved to rest on the man's head, threading his fingers affectionately through soaked hair.

Too tired to tease, Hawke watched their hands move over Anders' cock together, exactly where he wanted to be when Anders tensed, hand clenching in Hawke's hair, tightening their fingers around the head of his cock while he spilled, panting out his release. The water poured hot over them, but that was nothing to the warmth that bloomed through his chest as Anders’ hand resumed petting his hair, murmuring praise, and Hawke sighed, content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Hawke art](http://mevima.tumblr.com/post/141048516725/temptations-of-the-wicked-chapter-19-by) by Mevima. ;) I drew this several days in advance and had to wait to share.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again the tags have updated. <3

  
_Give, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you._  
_Benedictions 6:38_

 

Anders had fully expected Hawke’s sister to keep her promise of volunteering, and sure enough, she was at the clinic by midday the next day. The priest showed her around, and she reacted much the same way Hawke had, frowning at the state of the building and the necessities it clearly lacked. He also introduced her to Merrill and Lirene, and hoped that the three of them would get along; but for all of Bethany’s direct nature and assertiveness, she seemed genuinely interested in helping.

He led her into his makeshift office to fill out her information, also expecting to field a fair amount of questioning, but was caught by surprise when her first comment was, “My brother is an idiot.”

Anders handed Bethany her paperwork and a pen before responding neutrally, “He has his moments.”

“You have no idea. The amount of times he’s injured himself from trying to look cool as a teenager _alone_ gave our mother grey hair early.” She sighed and sat on a stack of filing boxes, tucking her hair behind her ear. “He loves getting attention and flirting with anything with a dick. He’s impulsive, stubborn, and loud. There were times I thought about becoming a lawyer solely because I figured I’d have to bail his idiot ass out of something eventually.”

She focused her attention on Anders. “But even with all that, he’s a good man. He loves his family and looking after the people he cares for. He’s generous to a fault and hilarious even when his jokes are awful and wrong. He’s always been there for me when I needed him. And he’s painfully bad at telling people how he feels and what he needs.”

Bethany paused, and the priest thought back to all of Hawke’s grief and guilt, the self-loathing he bottled up. “Yes, I’ve seen that firsthand,” he replied slowly.

“I don’t know if he’s told you, but he’s been someone’s ‘secret’ a few times before, and he’s never really had anyone stick around. He deserves better than being some hidden fling,” she said sternly.

Anders frowned, running a hand over his hair, then met her gaze. “I know that, trust me. I wish I could give him more. I’ve told him as much. I don’t wish to hurt him.” _At least not emotionally_ , he thought traitorously, praying to the Maker that Bethany never found out about _that_ portion of their relationship.

She eyed him and apparently judged him sincere, clicking her pen open and filling out the paperwork with quick, even strokes. “At least _you_ aren’t an idiot.”

“I have my moments,” Anders said, and he caught a hint of a smile, even as she scoffed.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully; Bethany and Merrill got along almost immediately, and Hawke’s sister proved to be quite helpful. With Satinalia falling next Wednesday, the girls led the kids in the shelter in making decorations for Merrill’s tiny tree, and the distraction let Anders finally get some organizing done.

At the end of the evening, Bethany ducked into the office and gave him a charming smile. “You’re getting my brother something for the holiday, right?”

“Of course,” the priest replied, though he certainly wouldn’t tell her what it was. “I do try to show my appreciation for him, you know.”

“Well, good, as long as I don’t hear the details of that appreciation, thanks,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just making sure, because I know there’s not much you can do together, with the sneaking and all.”

“If you must know, I usually see Hawke on Fridays, when he’s at the Hanged Man.” Even though he was hesitant to return after Varric’s comment, he figured that his sudden absence might be more suspicious.

Bethany’s face brightened, and she gave Anders a sly grin, one that he had begun to realize meant she was planning something. “Good to know. Anyway, see you tomorrow, Father!” she called, leaving before he could question why she’d been so pleased.

* * *

The next evening, Anders returned to the Hanged Man after his week’s absence, hoping that he seemed his normal self despite how apprehensive he was. He took his regular seat at the counter near Varric, who nodded to him, evidently busy, and when no clever comment or joke was forthcoming, Anders relaxed. Hawke handed him his cider with a wink, and Isabela waggled inappropriate eyebrows at him from her perch on the bartop. All things considered, it seemed like a typical evening.

“So, about how tall are you, Father Blondie?” Varric asked out of nowhere, startling Anders from his drink.

“I’m about six foot… why?” Anders peered over the glass in an attempt to see the paperwork the short man was furiously scribbling on, but Varric tilted it away.

“No reason,” Varric said, and then glanced up sharply. “Izzy! Is your ass a drink? Then get it off the counter!”

The dark-skinned waitress sighed, sliding off the surface reluctantly. “It could be _your_ drink if you wanted it,” she winked.

“Um, no. Thanks.” Varric shuffled his papers and set his pen aside.

“Come on, sweet thing,” Isabela wheedled, slinking closer. “I can’t get you into bed, and Hawke can’t get you into bed, so what’s your poison?”

“Peace and quiet,” Varric huffed.

With a cough, Anders asked, “Wait, Hawke - Mr. Hawke tried to get you into bed? Was this before or after he was your employee?”

From down the bar, Hawke groaned as Varric rolled his eyes. “Hawke tries to get everything with a dick into bed, as we have all learned to our detriment.” To his credit, he _didn’t_ eye Anders, though the priest flushed pink.

“He wasn’t my boss yet, and I was just a little bit drunk,” Hawke explained petulantly, coming closer when it was obvious there weren’t any patrons that needed his attention. “It’s the chest hair, what can I say?”

“It is a fine pelt,” Varric agreed. Anders nodded solemnly, and took a larger pull of his cider for good measure.

Not long after, something at the door caught Hawke’s attention, and he cursed under his breath. Anders turned in time to see Bethany walk up to the bar and lean casually against it, giving her brother a simpering smile. “What are you doing here?” he demanded

“Getting a drink,” she replied, then turned her grin to Anders. “Hello, Father.”

“Evening,” he said cautiously. Varric resumed his note-taking, the pen scratching loudly on his notebook.

Isabela noticed the newcomer and sidled over with a grin. “Ooh, who’s this lovely lady?”

Hawke glared at her and shook his finger scoldingly. “No, don’t you dare, that is my sister, you leave her alone.”

“She’s the smart one in the family, I take it?” Varric asked. 

“Of course,” Bethany responded. She held her hand out to Isabela in greeting. “Bethany. Nice to meet you.”

Isabela shook her hand and gave her an obvious once-over. “Hawke, my goodness, I didn’t know that ass was hereditary.”

“I will break all of your fingers,” he growled.

Bethany put her hand on her chin, eying Isabela in much the same way. “You’re pretty lovely yourself.”

Hawke’s face turned a variety of colors, finally deciding on red. “No! That is _Isabela_ , it’s… it’s a Maker-damned bad fucking idea, is what it is.”

“Language,” Varric called out automatically, then gave Anders a wry look as he reconsidered his objection. “...Never mind.”

Bethany sighed extravagantly. “I’m an adult now, brother dear, you can’t protect me forever,” she said, winking at Isabela.

Hawke tried one last tactic, obviously at the end of his rope. “She’s got a _girlfriend_!”

“Are you suggesting I introduce her to Kitten before I take her home?” Isabela asked.

Bethany grinned. “Merrill, right? I’ve met her. Sweet girl! I wouldn’t mind her, either.” She tilted her head, giving Anders an innocent look. “Father, is fraternizing allowed between volunteers?”

Anders swallowed against a cough and cleared his throat. “Just don’t do it on-site, please,” he said.

Hawke threw up his hands, almost smacking himself in the face with a bar towel. “I am not hearing this. Varric, can we please kick my sister out?” he whined, looking at the man in the corner plaintively.

“For what, fucking with you?” he said, looking at Hawke over the rim of his reading glasses. “I’d say give her a free beer for that.” He looked Bethany over, in a far less predatory manner than Isabela. “You… are of age, aren’t you, Sunshine?”

“Of course. Bartender, fetch me a beer,” she told Hawke, smiling sweetly.

Hawke folded his arms across his chest. “ID.”

Bethany scowled. “You’re joking. You _know_ my birthday, you ass.”

Hawke shook his head, despite Isabela turning a pout on him. “Nope. ID or I’m kicking you out.”

“Hawke, be nice to your sister,” Anders scolded, and he was thankful that Bethany had looked away to rummage through her purse when Hawke’s eyes widened at the familiar tone.

“Maker’s sake, here,” his sister said, throwing the card at him. 

Hawke spent a few seconds pretending to compare her face with the picture, but Isabela pinched his ass and he gave up the teasing. He tossed her card back and begrudgingly went to pull her beer, while Isabela sidled closer, laying a hand on her shoulder and leaning in to whisper something in her ear. Bethy’s eyebrows raised, but before she could respond, the heavy glass clunked down on the bar in front of her, making both women jump. His sister stuck her tongue out at him, and he watched Isabela walk her to a table with a frown.

“This is awful,” he grumbled, leaning on the counter in front of Anders. “My sister and that… temptress. Do something, she’s going to corrupt Bethy.”

“And what do you expect _me_ to do about it?” Anders asked. “Am I your sister’s keeper?”

“I don’t know, preach at her?” He waved his hand in the direction of the two women. “They’re over there flirting. Go yell at them.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Hawke,” he said tartly, “if flirting were a sin, you’d be the king of the Black City.”

“Nice,” Varric said, raising his pint to Anders, and the priest clinked their glasses together with a smirk. Hawke gave an exasperated sigh and stomped to the other end of the bar, pointedly not looking in Bethany’s direction.

* * *

**Saturday**

> 12:45pm Bethany: _How long have you been dating?_
> 
> 1:32pm Hawke: _In general or do you mean just him?_
> 
> 1:34pm Bethany: _The priest, of course! Anders. How long have you been together?_
> 
> 1:35pm Hawke: _Dont say his name! someone might see it_
> 
> 1:46pm Bethany: _Wow, paranoid much?_
> 
> 1:48pm Hawke: _Shut up. not long we didnt really confirm it until recently_
> 
> 2:01pm Bethany: _You know, secret romance is less romantic when it’s actually dangerous._
> 
> 3:14pm Bethany: _Is he at least nice to you?_
> 
> 3:56pm Hawke: _Yes but I prefer when hes cruel ;)_
> 
> 4:02pm Bethany: _Fucking gross, I can’t know that! Eugh! Brain bleach!_  
> 

* * *

Satinalia fell on Wednesday that year. Anders was exhausted from staying up all night for midnight Mass on Satinalia Eve, and then performing Mass on the day itself. The Grand Cleric had come for the occasion, as she normally did on holidays, and the Chantry had been a buzz of non-stop activity for hours.

He'd broken away to visit the clinic, the sight of the meager decorations and the children who'd received surprise gifts meaning more to him than any fanciful, elaborate pageantry the Chantry put forth. Both Merrill and Lirene received small gifts from him, Anders unwilling to let their support and importance go neglected; a kaleidoscopic light-show projector for Merrill, and a foot massager for the more practical Lirene.

And _someone_ had sent a catering service for dinner to give a hot meal to everyone in the shelter, on top of all that. It was one of the best holidays that Anders could remember, and he was eager to spend the rest of the evening with Hawke. Oddly, it wasn't especially surprising when Merrill was the one who urged him out.

"Lirene and I will take care of everything tomorrow, too, so I had better not see you in the morning," she said primly. "That's our gift to you, because you work too much. Holidays are for celebrating and not for being alone." She'd given him a knowing look and wandered off; he inwardly sighed with resignation that Isabela couldn't keep anything from her girlfriend, but he'd still taken Merrill's advice.

Hawke had been pleased to confirm that Anders was still going to visit Satinalia night. Better that he gave his gift in private, anyway, innocuous or not; how would he have explained delivering a present to one specific Chantry priest?

The gift sat on the coffee table, a small box wrapped in festive silver paper, and Hawke had no idea if Anders would like it. He had never been very good at gift-giving, and some of his poor decisions were legendary in the Hawke household; he'd never live down the year he'd saved up to buy Bethany a ‘personal massager’ because the kids at high school had said "all girls should have one." In retrospect, the boys sniggering while they said it should have been his first hint.

So when there was finally a quiet knock on the door, far later in the evening than they usually met, Hawke was palpably nervous, his grin too wide, his fingers tapping against the wood of the door as he held it open to greet his lover.

Anders met him with a kiss, and presented a small, wrapped parcel from his jacket pocket. "Happy Satinalia," he said, hoping that he wasn't blushing. He had no idea how Hawke would react to the present, but he'd wanted to get the man something that wasn't blatantly another item for their sessions. Even if Hawke thought it ridiculous.

Hawke smiled as he took the little box, and he ushered Anders into the living room. "I got you one too," he said, almost shyly, and gestured to the table, dropping bodily onto the couch. As Anders picked up his own package, Hawke turned the box in his fingers, making a show of sniffing it. "Let me guess: keys to a new car."

"Says the man who could buy one whenever he wished," Anders replied with a laugh. He sank down next to Hawke and ran his fingers over the silver ribbon tying his present. "It's nothing so exciting as that, unfortunately. A priest's salary doesn't afford much luxury."

Abruptly, Hawke wondered if he should have spent more on Anders' gift. Or maybe less? Should he be spreading the wealth more, or keeping the expenditure down to the same level? He smoothed the wrapping he'd just wrinkled up, and frowned at the floor. "You're supposed to guess," he pointed out.

Anders raised Hawke's hand to his lips and kissed his fingers, trying to banish whatever thoughts the man was having. "Should I guess mine, then? I'm imagining it's something indecent," he said with a smirk. "You didn't need to get me anything. Though I'm flattered that you did."

"Should it have been something indecent? Of course I got you something! I just... hope it's the right thing. You can have anything you want, you know." Hawke tugged his fingers back and held up his gift. "At the same time?"

Anders nodded, smiling at Hawke's statement. It'd been years since he'd been given a gift at all for Satinalia, and he'd likely be thrilled by whatever this was. Even if Hawke had given him something completely inappropriate.

The bow came off first, and he unwrapped the paper while watching Hawke do the same. The box held a smaller, felt-covered jewelry case, and Anders immediately worried at how much Hawke had spent on his gift, opening it apprehensively to reveal a set of round, gold cufflinks, inset with polished red stone. They weren't extravagant, but Anders still didn't want to guess at their value. 

Hawke had stopped and was looking at him expectantly for a reaction. Many responses ran through Anders' mind before he finally settled on, "They're lovely, Hawke. And probably far too much, but... thank you," he said, giving Hawke a smile.

Quiet, but Anders had called his gift lovely, sounding sincere, and Hawke smirked, relaxing. "They didn't cost too much. Probably less than your car. Wait, how much did your car cost?"

At Anders' shocked expression, Hawke finally laughed, waving off his concern. "I swear I could take you out to dinner for the same amount." He tore the rest of the paper off his gift in turn, revealing a similar jewelry box, if a bit flimsier, and raised his eyebrows at the priest as he popped it open.

The teasing expression was replaced with confusion, Hawke unsure how to react as he pulled the black beaded rosary from the box. It took a moment for the item to register, especially since it lacked the embellished symbol of Andraste at the bottom.. "Are you... calling me a sinful man, Father?"

"You don't need me to tell you what you already know, Hawke." Anders set the cufflinks aside on the coffee table and laid his arm across the back of the couch, letting his fingers stroke the back of Hawke's neck. "And I'm certain you'll put it to a sinful use soon enough. I was thinking of how well you responded to the collar, and I'd like you to wear it for me under your clothing, if you wish. As a reminder." Part of him worried that Hawke would find the idea silly, and he waited hesitantly for the man's response.

Hawke gaped at the blond, beads clutched between his fingers. "You... this is... a collar?" He looked at the strand with renewed interest. "You're laying claim with a rosary." The idea was simultaneously hilarious and ridiculously hot, and he swallowed the sudden jag of lust. Going to Mass with this burning into his skin? Maker take him - and he very well might, for such blasphemy - Hawke _wanted_.

"It's a bit less obvious than the collar, don't you think?" Anders asked, his voice lowering as he watched Hawke's expression change. He'd wrestled with guilt at the thought of defiling such a holy thing in this way, and had removed Andraste’s symbol from the rosary so as to lessen the sacrilege of it all, but it was so enticing to have it used to represent their relationship, something so sacred used for such a secretly sinful purpose. "You don't have to wear it constantly, just when you're out. I want you to remember what you are to me, every time you feel it against your skin. I want you to remember that you're mine."

The priest took the rosary from his hand and held it open with his fingers; Hawke obediently ducked his head to let Anders drape the beads around his neck. "And if you have the urge to pray for your sins, you're allowed to wear it when you touch yourself. Trail the beads across your skin while you think of me, wrap them around your cock... I want you to pray with it for every sinful thought you have, pet."

"Fuck," Hawke whispered helplessly at the words, the images. He hadn't felt the term ‘pet’ so viscerally until now, not even with the collar around his throat, not until Anders told him in so many words that he was _owned_. Staring up at the priest, he touched the beads running down his chest delicately. "And what am I, to you?" he asked, voice rough.

 _More than I deserve,_ Anders thought. _Worth the risk. The only thing that's ever made me regret my calling._ The priest cupped Hawke's jaw and traced a thumb across his lips. "Perfect," he murmured, and closed the distance between them, kissing Hawke as he tightened a hand in his hair.

Hawke groaned, parting his lips, and Anders took full advantage, sliding inside to trace his teeth and nip at his tongue. He made a hungry noise, and Anders growled in response, pressing him back against the couch, mouth trailing along his jaw until his breath blew hot in Hawke's ear.

"I have another present for you, pet, if you'll be good for me," Anders purred, bit Hawke's earlobe, and the man hissed, tilting his head into it. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

Something fizzed out in Hawke's brain at that, and he exhaled a choked breath, hands clenching where they had come to rest on Anders' waist. "You - I - fuck, yes, Maker please," Hawke babbled, eyes wide, desperately hoping he wasn't dreaming the words.

"Are you sure?" Anders couldn't help but ask, knowing that it was merciless to tease Hawke like this, but unable to resist. He bit Hawke's neck just above his collarbone, eager to leave further evidence that his lover was _claimed._ "I know you've been missing it, that you've wanted to be full and aching for weeks now. Do you still want it if I say you can't come?"

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Hawke moaned, suddenly achingly empty at merely the idea. He didn't have the presence of mind to weigh pros and cons, he just wanted, needed everything Anders was offering him, and he would gladly show his dedication through suffering.

Somehow, Hawke kept having to remind himself that the priest wanted him to answer out loud. "Yes, yes, fill me up, stretch me wide, _please_."

Anders pulled Hawke's hair to tilt his head back, eyes dark and eager. "Go into the bedroom, strip except for the rosary, and fetch my boots, the bottle of lube, and your dildo." At Hawke's stricken look, he yanked hard against his scalp, drawing out a whimper. "I can't have you on my cock, pet, but I'll still give you what you want."

Hawke buried the disappointment behind thoughts of how much Anders was actually offering him, and scrambled to obey as soon as he was given the chance. Clothing strewn haphazardly along the way, he returned to the living room as quickly as he could manage.

It wasn't until he was on his knees, tightening the boots in a manner that had become ritual and familiar, that he thought to wonder. "How would you like me to prepare myself, Father?"

Anders rolled up his sleeves and gestured for Hawke to stand and straddle his lap, running his hands down Hawke's chest after he obeyed, tugging lightly at the beads around his neck. Simply the idea of what he had planned had the priest already growing hard. "You won't," he replied with a smirk, "because I'm going to prepare you."

The noise that Hawke made echoed through his mind, and he pulled at one of Hawke's nipple rings as he reached for the bottle.

If Hawke could have spoken after that little pronouncement, he would have sworn incoherently, followed by _yes please oh Maker I want your fingers so badly sweet fucking Void_. As it was, he made another raw sound, need and lust caught in his throat, grinding his hips down as he watched Anders coat his own fingers in lube.

The priest trailed his thumb teasingly down the length of Hawke's eager cock, palming his sack as his hand moved farther between Hawke's legs, stroking the skin just before his opening in wide circles. "You're not allowed to come. Do you understand?"

"Yes, fuck," Hawke whimpered, hands clenching against the sofa as his back arched in anticipation.

"Good boy," Anders breathed, and brushed his slick finger across Hawke's hole, rubbing in that same slow rhythm until he finally pressed in, groaning at the tight, hot clench of it and imagining it around his cock.

One finger had never been much to Hawke, just a lovely stretch, but from Anders, it felt like embers glowing in his belly, a pleasure he'd never thought he'd be able to have. The man's slim digit slid wetly in and out, slow, so slow as Hawke panted above him. Anders didn't linger long with just one, fortunately; he'd watched Hawke finger himself and quickly moved on to two. Hawke cried out, unable to stop his hips from rolling, and Anders encouraged him, gripped Hawke's hip with his other hand and moved him along until he was grinding down on Anders' fingers, whimpering cries falling from his lips as his eyes squeezed shut.

Hawke writhed, Anders' fingers stroked into him, and he shouted as they sought out his prostate, a jolt of pleasure rocking his body. Those long fingers paused, briefly enough that Hawke wouldn't have noticed if they weren't inside of him, drawing all of his attention, and then the priest's hand clenched on his hip, holding him in place, fingers pressed unerringly back into that spot, circling it, teasing. Hawke gave a shuddering groan as he suddenly realized how _hard_ the order not to come was going to be, his cock already jerking needily.

"Look at how desperate you are," Anders said, eyes locked onto Hawke's face as he continued stroking and rubbing precisely, breathing heavily himself at the lovely, pained noises Hawke made. "I bet you could come just from this, couldn't you, pet? Just from two fingers? You're so needy for it." His hand moved faster for a few brief seconds, thrusting quick and hard across Hawke's prostate until the man was shaking, then slowing and resuming the same, leisurely pace.

His fingers withdrew slowly, and Hawke keened at the loss, panting against Anders' ear as the priest slicked a third. It was certainly depraved the way Anders wanted to draw this out, but he'd longed to tease Hawke open ever since he'd first glimpsed his toned ass. "Are you going to beg for me?" he purred, tracing his fingertips across the tight ring of muscle, the thumb of his other hand caressing Hawke's hipbone.

"Is that what you want?" Hawke choked out. "I will, Maker, yes, I just... can't believe you're... oh, fuck." Thighs trembling, Hawke tried to press down onto Anders' fingers, but the priest pulled them back, hand clenching on his hip, tips just barely pressing inside. "Please, Father, please put your fingers in me, I want to feel full, I want your knuckles against me, as much as you'll give me, _ah_ \- "

Gasping as Anders' fingers slowly worked their way into his ass, flexing and stretching until the burn was all he could think about, Hawke continued to plead. "Maker, _yes_ , oh fuck I don't know how I'll last even with just this, and you're going to - shit, how - how can you ask this? You know how easily I - " He cut himself off with a wail when Anders thrust the rest of the way in, deep, and ground his knuckles against his taut rim.

"I _do_ know, pet, but you're going to be good for me, aren't you?" Hawke was so responsive, the feel of him hot and clenched around Anders' fingers so powerful, that Anders briefly considered changing tactics and seeing how many times he could make Hawke come in his lap. But this held its own delicious appeal, so he only rocked his hand steadily against Hawke, slowing when he felt the man's thighs shake and his breath come in gasps. "If you come, I'll stop, and I know you want more."

"Never stop," Hawke begged, knuckles white where his hands clutched at the couch over Anders' shoulders. "Feels too good." He whined when Anders crooked his fingers, cock dripping precum onto the priest's shirt, and whimpered, "I don't know if I can be good."

Anders stilled his hand. gripping Hawke's hip to stop him from thrusting down onto it, withdrawing his fingers so only the tips were still inside. "You _will_ be good for me," he said darkly. "You'll tell me when you're close if you must, but I'm going to keep playing with your ass, and then you're going to fuck yourself on your toy in my lap. And I'm going to be very disappointed if you come."

"Fuck. I'll tell you. I swear." The little rolling motions his hips kept making were unavoidable, Hawke gritting his teeth, trying to hold still as Anders’ dominating hand demanded. He hoped he was telling the truth; his cock was already heavy, aching with need, and he did so want to be obedient.

Anders waited until Hawke had taken a shaky breath before thrusting his fingers inside again and giving a wicked smile as the breath came out as a cry. He rocked his hand up, grinding it against Hawke's ass as he crooked and arched his fingers, keeping his movements shallow. The priest was almost as needy, arousal throbbing from the slick sounds of his fingers moving inside Hawke, aching with the thought of forgoing the toy and seating the man on his cock instead. "I think you're ready for more," he groaned. "Rise up on your knees for me."

Cursing, Hawke did as he was told, and whined when those wonderful fingers slipped out of him, leaving him empty. He was trembling, too close, and considered asking for a break if he was supposed to keep himself under control, but he wanted to feel Anders thrusting back inside him too badly to even pause. So Hawke only breathed as he watched the priest spread lube on the dildo, trying to pull himself back from the edge. As the smooth head was pressed against his entrance, Anders glanced up at him, and Hawke quirked a shaky grin. "You are entirely too composed right now."

Anders let out a soft laugh and pinched Hawke's hip. "Patience is a virtue, one that you've not learned yet. I intend to remind you of its importance tonight." He gripped the toy by the base in his other hand, holding it steady underneath Hawke's ass as he thrust it in, just a little, enough to watch Hawke's expression falter and hear his ragged gasp. "But I assure you, I'm very eager to see what you look like when you're getting fucked," he purred. "Now sink down and take it, as slowly as you need to. We don't want this over before it begins."

Hawke shifted his hands to Anders' shoulders, first, just to feel his solid presence, before he slowly started to work downward, cock bobbing with every roll of his hips. Distantly, he wished he could make a show of it. Normally he'd pull up and thrust down on it again, as if someone were fucking into him, to feel the slide of it against his insides, but not this time; he was too busy concentrating on _not coming_ with every new inch that slid into him, just a bit thicker and now - _oh_ , now deeper than Anders' fingers had gone.

Long minutes later, Hawke felt fingers against his ass just when he expected them, intimately familiar with the depth of this particular toy, and he groaned at the fullness, at the knowledge that he'd be expected to hold himself together as the priest did what he wished with him.

"Good," Anders breathed, eyes drawn to Hawke's tense body, his straining cock, the concentration on his face as he took the toy deeper. He let out a soft noise when his hand met Hawke's ass, letting his finger trace his lover's stretched rim around the dildo as Anders gave him time to adjust.

After a moment, when Hawke’s breathing had calmed a bit, he withdrew the toy and thrust it back in, steady but slow, wanting Hawke to feel every inch of it as it slid inside him. The position wasn't ideal, but the illusion of Hawke riding his lap and letting Anders see every flicker of pleasure across his face was worth it. "That's it," he murmured, adjusting his grip to slide it deeper, nails digging into the flesh of Hawke's hip. "You're taking it so well."

With a whine, Hawke rolled his hips to meet Anders' thrust, jolting as the toy was seated firmly inside him again. "You're going to drive me mad," he groaned. "It could be you, in me, you know. It almost is. We're the only ones who would know. _Fuck_." The last was bitten off when Anders drove inside him hard, and Hawke forced his eyes open to see how the priest was taking the babbled suggestion.

Anders grit his teeth as he worked the toy into Hawke harder, his cock throbbing at the words but maintaining his resolve. He badly wanted to take Hawke, to fuck him hard and deep until he screamed, but he couldn't bring himself to commit such a sin, to destroy whatever remained of his vows with such finality.

Anders channeled his frustration into the harsh rhythm he set with Hawke, hissing, "You don't get to beg for that. You're going to take what I give you."

For a moment, Hawke could only throw his head back, desperate noises falling from his lips as Anders' rough strokes overwhelmed him with heat and need. He was coming too close again, orgasm teasing at the edge of his senses, tugging on his darkened cock, and he needed to distract himself. "You like it when I beg," Hawke breathed, pace breaking up the words. "When I need you, and oh Maker I _need_ you. I'm - fucking, I'm too - please," he moaned suddenly, hands clenching on Anders' shoulders as another wave of ecstasy rocked him. "Please, too close, I want to be good."

The toy stilled inside Hawke and Anders let the man catch his breath until his fingers unclenched from Anders' shoulders. "Good boy," he said, brushing Hawke's hair away from his forehead, calming his own need. "You're doing wonderfully." 

Eager to continue, he resumed his grip on Hawke's hip, noting the indentations of his nails across smooth skin, and guided him to sink down, until Anders' hand rested against his own lap, still clutching the toy tightly. "Now ride it. Fuck yourself on it while I watch," he commanded.

Hawke obediently lifted up, and moaned loudly as he sank down on it again. The pause had given him enough space to think, at least, to open his eyes and meet Anders' dark gaze, fantasize that it was the priest's cock inside of him and not silicone, but as he snapped his hips down on the toy, stomach muscles flexing with every thrust, thought quickly fled again. Before long, Hawke was tense and trembling, sweat trickling down the back of his neck as he pleaded brokenly, though he wasn't liable to get the mercy he was asking for, nor did he truly want it.

"You're so lovely like this," Anders purred, drinking in the sight of Hawke pleasuring himself at his order. He rocked his hips forward, brushing his confined cock against Hawke's flushed arousal and letting out a groan. "Like you were made to be fucked, like all you ever need is a cock inside you."

"Yes," Hawke moaned, nearly incoherent, "Need yours. Please. Fuck!" Another burst of pleasure as the dildo rubbed against his prostate, and he stiffened, about to gasp out a warning when fingers closed tight around the base of his cock, stopping his impending orgasm in its tracks. Hawke cried out instead, frustrated and grateful.

Then he was being moved, pushed back with a firm hand against his chest, and Hawke barely caught himself as he landed on the ground, Anders' hand still wrapped tightly around his cock as if he owned it - which Hawke would vehemently agree with, if asked. When he looked up, the priest looked sinister, kneeling between his legs, and his hips gave an impatient twitch at the implication, clenching around the toy still inside him.

"You just can't control yourself, can you? Did you _forget_ what I said? What a naughty brat you are." Anders tutted and swatted his thigh hard, then stood up and growled, "Stay there and don't move an inch."

He stalked down the hall to the bathroom and washed his hands, taking the time to calm himself and urge his own arousal down. Maker, but he'd been close himself, just from fingering Hawke’s ass and watching him, and he was thankful for the moment to regain his composure. Thinking ahead, he took a hand towel with him, and went into the bedroom to retrieve the cock ring from their toy chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS- Please don't kill us with knives, Part 2 :D There was quite a bit to this scene, and it went way longer than one chapter's worth. Apologies for the cliffhanger smut.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Xiiau, for reasons. Happy Easter :D

_“Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me;_  
_Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”_  
_Trials 23:4_

 

When Anders returned, Hawke had taken him literally in his order to hold still, legs still spread where he sprawled on his back on the living room floor, fingers dug into the pile of the carpet, rosary beads messily tangled in his chest hair. He didn't have the same desperate look any more, but his cock was a dark red where it rested against his stomach, a puddle of precum smeared beneath it, and the priest paused a moment to appreciate the sight.

"You'll have to learn to keep yourself under control," Anders scolded as he knelt, wrapping the leather strap carefully around the base of Hawke's cock and balls, brushing his pubic hair out of the way, pulling it snug and snapping it shut. The man groaned, and Anders slapped his thigh again. "This will help, but it won’t stop you. Be good for me."

The priest sat back on his heels and looked down at Hawke sternly. "Get on your hands and knees. Don't you dare let that fall out," he ordered. Hawke let out a whimper as he complied, moving slowly until he was spread before Anders with his head down obediently. The blond swatted Hawke’s firm ass hard enough to sting.

"That's for making me stop," he said, and took the base of the toy in hand again, withdrawing it almost all the way before thrusting it deep. He had a much different view this way, but it was just as arousing watching from this angle as he slid the dildo in and out steadily.

Hawke didn't even try to meet his thrusts, just held still and let Anders fuck him, forehead pressing against his hands as he groaned helplessly. Need built back up again quickly, and he let it wash over him, getting louder, spreading his legs wider in a wordless plea for more as he realized he had a bit more mastery over himself like this.

A few rough thrusts, and Hawke found himself howling, letting out a loud, ragged cry at each shove of the toy inside him. His knees slipped on the carpet, sagging towards the floor, and Anders paused to slap his ass hard once more, the blow echoing sharply through him. "Back up on your knees," the blond snapped, and Hawke struggled to obey, whimpering, hanging on to the edge of the pleasure that built and built and had nowhere to go.

Anders changed the pace as he saw fit, from hard and quick to slow and deep, assessing by Hawke's noises and the shuddering of his body what the man could take. He wanted to drive Hawke to the edge once more, with the ring on, to see how desperate and ragged he could get. Hawke's swollen cock hung between his legs, and Anders ran his finger across it to catch the precum dripping from its head, grinning as Hawke cried out. "That's better," the priest said, driving the dildo in harder, angling it to slide against Hawke's prostate. "You look lovely, pet, gorgeous on your knees, bent over and taking it while I fill you. Do you want me to stop?"

Hawke wanted many things. He wanted to come, but he also wanted to be obedient; greedily, he wanted it harder and rougher; he wanted his lover to touch him everywhere, to sink his cock into him, to maybe give him a _break_ if he were expected to respond coherently, but he did not want Anders to stop.

"Never," Hawke whimpered, word almost lost amid shouts and groans, sparks flashing behind closed eyes as Anders worked his sweet spot mercilessly. He jolted against the floor, spread his legs as far as he could, offering himself as demonic fingertips fluttered over the head of his cock teasingly, and abruptly Hawke realized he was _close_ , closer than he thought he had been. With a panicked whine, Hawke almost reached down, checked himself with a clenched fist, and begged, "I’m close, I'm going to come, Father, please please _please let me_!"

The tortured cries made the priest’s cock twitch, and it was tempting to take pity on him... but instead, he withdrew the toy suddenly. As the man screamed shortly at the loss, Anders ran a soothing hand over Hawke's lower back. "No," he said simply, and when Hawke sobbed in protest, Anders traced his thumb idly across his stretched hole, watching Hawke shudder with sensation.

"You begged me for this, you know,” Anders breathed, a shiver of arousal running through him as he slipped his fingers in leisurely, watched Hawke writhe and sob and let him do such torturous things to his willing body. “Begged me to fuck you and not let you come, to make you kneel before me with your ass and cock aching for more. I wonder if you even remember some of the things you say, but it doesn't matter, because I remember them _all_."

Anders set the dildo down and stood, wiping his hands on the towel and regarding Hawke panting on the ground for a moment. He walked around the man slowly, balancing carefully on the heels, letting Hawke feel his scrutiny, then took a seat in the armchair, leaning back with a regal gesture. "You’ve done well. Come here, pet."

Sitting up carefully, hands shaking, Hawke felt his emptiness acutely, alongside the persistent ache in his swollen cock, the sweat trickling down his back, the beads sliding against his skin. There was no way he would be able to stand, so he crawled, nuzzling against Anders' boot and smearing a kiss across it before he lay his cheek on the priest's thigh. He couldn't hold still, circling his hips in tiny, needy movements, and mouthed at the fabric of Anders' trousers.

Anders held back a gasp, memories resurfacing of the night in the confessional and the wicked way Hawke's mouth had teased him through his clothing. His fingers ran through Hawke's hair soothingly, desire spiking through him at seeing the man so lust-addled and wanton, and he almost didn't stop Hawke's mouth as it moved higher along his thigh. "No," he said softly, tugging dark hair in emphasis.

Inches from the heat of the priest's cock, Hawke blinked up at him with a hazy expression, licking his lips as he stopped his slow progression. "Please," he breathed, hands resting warm on the priest's knees, rolling his hips distractedly, trying not to focus on the ache, the emptiness, the need centered between his legs and trapped by the cock ring. "Please."

Hawke kneeling before him, utterly debauched, was suddenly a very difficult thing to resist, especially with his murmured pleas and the need raw on his face. Anders swallowed and tried not to think of how good those lips had felt against his clothed cock, how much he longed to feel them against his skin, to feel the heat of Hawke's mouth around him, but it was a battle he was quickly losing. He'd already been badly tempted by the way Hawke rode the toy in his lap; this was still a filthy, sinful proposition, Maker save him, but he clung to the idea that at least he wasn't breaking down entirely. At least he wasn’t fucking Hawke senseless.

The priest was under no delusions that his vow of chastity was still intact in any way, but guilt and discipline had been keeping him from taking everything that Hawke offered. Now, staring at the utter devotion in Hawke’s eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to care very much.

Anders' fingers clenched in a handful of Hawke's hair and tilted his head back, staring down at him. "You can beg better than that," he said silkily.

"Please," Hawke said again, immediately obedient, tugging against Anders' hand just to feel the sting. He was too far gone to come up with elaborate fantasies, too needy to twist his words prettily, and he hoped it was enough as he begged simply, "Please let me suck you, please.”

The openness of it, knowing that it was all Hawke could manage in the state Anders had brought him to, was what finally did the blond in. He kept his hand wound in Hawke's hair as he unfastened his trousers, his cock stiff and flushed as he drew it out. Hawke whined, eyes darting between Anders' face and his erection, likely fearful that this would be another thing Anders would tease him with - but he had no intention of doing so this time.

The priest's eyes were dark as he gazed down at Hawke's submissive, eager face, and a smirk tugged at the corner of Anders' mouth. He pulled Hawke's head forward, just enough to slide the tip of his cock along Hawke's lips, which parted for him on a low, eager groan. "Hoc est corpus meum," he murmured, echoing communion, and guided Hawke's mouth down around his length, moaning at the feel of finally taking this indulgence.

It was just the distraction Hawke needed, forcing his attention away from his own body to focus on Anders'. He had wanted this ever since he'd seen the man in the bar, wanted to wrap his lips around him and find out what he tasted of, and this was so much better than any fantasy he could have come up with: fucked out, dazed with lust, on his knees with his lover's hand tangled in his hair.

The fact that he wasn't allowed to come was only a minor issue.

Fingers slid down the blond's legs to dig into the leather over his calves, anchoring Hawke as he allowed his mouth to be used, covering his teeth with his lips in a practiced motion and darting his tongue over the head as Anders pulled out. He reveled in the salty bitterness of precum, and moaned around Anders' length as he endeavoured to create more, pushing forward against the guidance of his hands until the priest was thrusting into the space in the back of his throat.

"Oh fuck, your mouth is perfect, pet," Anders groaned, and his other hand clenched on Hawke's shoulder, the strong muscle under his fingers only fueling his need. It was depraved and beautiful, and so, _so_ good, the wet heat surrounding him and Hawke's needy noises as he took Anders in deeper, letting the priest use his mouth and control the pace with the tight grip in his hair. Anders wanted to savour it, but he was too far gone, a traitorous thought of _next time_ running through his mind, and he arched his hips to meet Hawke's mouth. 

"You can take it all, can't you?" he asked breathlessly; Hawke whimpered and nodded quickly, and Anders guided him down until Hawke's lips wrapped around the base of his shaft, his cock deep in Hawke's throat, and he thrust shallowly as he bobbed Hawke’s head in a quick rhythm, not even bothering to restrain the shattered, passionate noises he made. 

Too long since he'd done this, Hawke struggled to take Anders in for a moment, throat convulsing before he could relax it. Then he floated, finding solace in the rhythm of his lover surrounding him, inside him, using him as he was meant to be used, to bring about Anders' ecstasy with no thought to his own. He breathed through his nose when he got the chance, braced himself on the blond's legs, and forgot entirely that he had been begging to come just moments before as Anders changed the shape of his throat.

Before he was ready to give this up, Anders' hands were clenching in Hawke's hair, his hips jerking upward with every stroke as the most delicious sounds Hawke had ever heard fell from his lips. Hawke swallowed around him, dragged his tongue along the underside, and far too soon, Anders' cock swelled in his mouth, hands holding his head steady as the priest came messily down his throat with a loud cry.

Anders leaned back in the chair, half-dazed, and loosened his grip on Hawke's head, petting the man's hair as he panted for breath. Hawke lapped at Anders' softening cock, eager to catch every drop of spend, and the priest shivered as that wicked tongue cleaned him. "So good for me, pet," he managed, and felt Hawke's pleased hum against his thigh, lips brushing his skin as his lover sank into the comfort offered. 

There wasn't any panic this time, and Anders didn't know if that meant he'd finally resigned himself to a life of sin, or if the sight of Hawke looking up at him in adoration surpassed everything else. But exhaustion was quickly catching up to him, and he sighed as he leaned forward to coax Hawke upright for a kiss.

"I wanted to make you wait until the morning to come, so we should get cleaned up. You can last a bit longer, can't you, beautiful?" he asked, fingers stroking through Hawke's hair.

Hawke whined, even as he tilted his head into the attention. Though relaxed for the moment, the infernal cock ring was still wrapped tight around him, reminding him of the need to come. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and a bit despairing. "You mean it, don't you?"

"I do mean it," Anders replied, "but you know what to say if you can't take it.”

"I..." Hawke opened his mouth to respond, and then considered it seriously. He certainly ached, but... it was something he'd fantasized about before, and the thought of putting himself so thoroughly in Anders' hands made him shiver. Pressing his head demandingly back into Anders' hands, he shook his head wordlessly.

Anders smiled and obligingly pet Hawke's hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead and gesturing for him to move back so he could rise from the chair. "Can you stand, pet? I'll help you."

Weak legs held as Hawke let Anders pull him to his feet. The priest's touch was almost too intimate when he reached down to unclasp the cock ring delicately, leaving Hawke's cock hanging heavy between his legs, and he groaned, hands clenched firmly at his sides as Anders tucked himself away and gathered their scattered toys.

They went to the bathroom next, where Anders instructed Hawke to clean their tools in the sink and start the shower. Hawke felt the man's gaze on him keenly, trying desperately to ignore the erection which did not seem to be going down one bit. When it came time to climb in under the warm spray, he was strangely reluctant to remove the beads hanging around his neck, twisting them in his fingers for long seconds before he dropped them on the counter.

The priest followed without hesitation, setting his clothing aside and placing his saint's amulet next to Hawke's rosary. Anders couldn't resist running his hands over Hawke, or sliding his fingers gently into the man's ass, the ease of it making him smirk.

Hawke let out a plaintive whine and arched back against Anders' hand. " _Please._ "

"No," Anders said with a slight chuckle, kissing the back of Hawke's neck. "I've already told you when you'll get more, pet. Honestly, I think you just enjoy me denying you."

"Maybe," Hawke admitted breathlessly. "Like this too."

Anders hummed encouragement, kissing Hawke's neck again as he toyed with him further, fingers moving aimlessly, before pulling his hand away and slapping Hawke's ass once. "Clean up," he ordered. "You first, then me."

Hawke turned to eye him, but Anders only raised an eyebrow, serious as sin. Flushing, he rushed through his own washing, paying only the barest attention to his own cock for fear of going too far, and delicately cleaning his sensitive hole. When he turned his attentions to Anders, though, he was gentle, soft with his touch, almost worshipful as the priest allowed him to explore as he pleased, so long as it furthered the goal of getting clean.

Anders groaned softly as Hawke's hands traveled his body, tempted to let the man linger where he wanted, but he finally tugged Hawke's hair to signal a stop. "Good boy," he said with a smile, giving Hawke a brief kiss that he was sorely tempted to deepen.

They didn't linger under the water after that, Hawke antsy and Anders tired, and headed to bed for the night. It hit Hawke, then, that Anders was staying overnight on purpose this time, and a giddy smile lit his face as he pulled a pair of soft boxers over his finally flagging erection.

The priest lay on the bed in borrowed pajama pants, Hawke curled next to him, his hand running through Hawke's hair, feeling more comfortable and relaxed than he had in years. "Did you have a good holiday, Hawke?" he asked with a smile.

Hawke paused, and then pulled away without responding, but it was only to grab a small object from the end table on his side of the bed. He pressed it into Anders' hand, closing the man's fingers around it, and explained hesitantly, "It's my second present to you. You don't have to use it, but I'd like knowing you have it. Just in case."

Anders blinked at the key in his palm, needing a moment to process the information. "This... you're giving me a key. To your house," he clarified, not that he really needed to, just so that he had more time to come up with a response. First Hawke had given him cufflinks, now this; he remembered the earlier joke of having him move in, but surely Anders shouldn't think of this gesture as meaning something _that_ serious. Hawke had said ‘just in case,’ as if it was for an emergency. No, he was overthinking this, and that wasn't feasible anyway with his position, let alone the fact that they'd not been together for more than a couple months, at most. 

Then again, he'd given Hawke the rosary to signify his claim over the man, wanting that certainty of Hawke being _his_ , and he couldn't deny that within the anxiety he suddenly felt there was an underlying current of elation, one that he was carefully trying to hold back. He blamed his addled mental state on how drained he was, and cracked a shy smile at Hawke. "Is this a ploy to have me surprise you with my presence, to make sure you're being good?"

"Your trousers are thin," Hawke blurted out, and when Anders blinked at him in confusion, he flushed and hurried on. "You usually wear the same ones, with the little scuff mark on the hem, and I figure you probably don't have many clothes and don't have a washer and dryer so I just..." He made an embarrassed gesture, gave Anders an unsure smile. "You use me plenty, you may as well have permission to use my stuff, too, yeah?"

Anders opened his mouth as if to respond, and Hawke spoke again, wanting to get everything out before the priest could say _thank you but that's a little too far_. "You really don't have to, but... I'll get you a toothbrush and some pajamas and then you can be more comfortable here. I like you here. I... wouldn't object to you surprising me, either," he grinned shyly.

The protest against the idea of ‘using Hawke’ fled Anders’ mind, and instead he set the key on the nightstand and held out his arm, Hawke burrowing against his side again. He couldn't offer a proper response to _I like you here_ that wasn't simply an echo of the sentiment, but carded his fingers through Hawke's damp hair and kissed his forehead.

"Thank you, for the offer. I should be bringing those things myself, the way the last couple weeks have been, hmm? Since you don't mind if I stay. I'll try not to take advantage of your generosity. And I'm not certain how easily I could surprise you, since we have terribly opposite schedules, but I'll try to think of something," he said with a smirk.

"Please _do_ take advantage." Hawke returned his smirk, pressing closer to feel more bare flesh. "This is good. Driving me crazy, of course. I feel every brush of your skin, but it’s _good_ , Anders. I love what you do to me."

A host of emotions rose up within Anders: affection, with Hawke warm and nuzzling against him; relief - and a bit of pride - that his lover enjoyed what he did; and even desire, despite how tired and spent he was. "I'm glad, because I love doing it to you," he said softly, "And I trust you to tell me if that changes." He kept their pose for a few minutes longer before kissing Hawke’s forehead again and shifting onto his side, Hawke moving to press against his back and wrap an arm around his chest. At the not-subtle press of the man's hips against his ass, he added, "I expect you to be good while I'm unconscious, pet, which is... very soon. I've had a long day."

"Sleep, then." Hawke pressed a kiss to Anders' loose golden hair, and made an attempt to restrain himself.

He wasn't tired, not like Anders was; his holiday had been long as well, but he was used to going to bed hours later, and the endorphins running through his body hadn't been given an outlet. For a moment, he considered disobeying. It would be easy to slip out of bed once the priest was asleep, go to the bathroom and get himself off quietly, and return to bed with none the wiser, but... much as his body twitched for it, Hawke found he didn't want that. He _liked_ the control Anders held over him, he liked being obedient and the way the man staked his claim. So Hawke sighed, discarding his idle thoughts of relief, and merely snuggled in closer.

* * *

It wasn't dawn that woke Anders this time, though when he tiredly opened his eyes there was faint light easing through the curtains. He was warm, almost feverish with Hawke's weight draped around him, and the man's breath was hot against his neck, the arm around his waist pulling him closer. The source of the heat building through him was obvious after a moment, when Hawke's hips rolled shallowly against his ass, hard cock grinding against him.

"Hawke," he moaned softly, but there was no response; Hawke was still asleep, and wasn't _this_ an interesting habit that Anders would have to remember, or maybe it was due to how he'd left Hawke wanting last night. While he'd ordered his lover to wait until morning, this wasn't exactly what he'd planned, but his own body was eagerly responding to the attention.

Anders turned in Hawke's embrace, his movements waking the man enough that he mumbled something inaudibly. The priest rolled Hawke onto his back, their legs tangled together, and Anders buried his face in Hawke's neck, letting out a stuttered breath as he rocked against him.

Hawke came awake slowly, first aware of the heat of the man on top of him, then the pressure against his stiff cock through layers of fabric, and he reached up to lace his hand through Anders' long hair as he realized the man's mouth was on his neck. "Morning," he murmured, tightening his legs around Anders'.

The night before came back in a flood, then, and Hawke's hand clenched in Anders' hair as he let out a groan of need. His words were a little clearer this time when he said, almost accusing, "You didn't let me come."

Anders laughed softly against Hawke's skin, teeth scraping across his pulsepoint. "Is that all you remember?" he asked, thrusting against Hawke in a lazy rhythm and arching into the tug against his scalp. "I remember my fingers inside you and my cock in your mouth. Wasn't so terrible, was it?"

"Maker, no." Hawke smiled into his hair. "Do it again."

"Oh?" Anders' hips slowed, made as if to pull back.

Hawke wrapped both arms around his shoulders immediately, a hint of panic in his voice. "Not _now_!" The priest only laughed again, and Hawke calmed, the grind of their hips together almost relaxing despite the heat building between them. This was nice. This was wonderful, and he wished he had it every day.

Anders kissed a path up Hawke's neck to his jaw, his full beard scraping against his cheek. "Every day?" he asked, grinning as Hawke blushed when he realized he'd said that out loud. "I don't think we'd ever get anything done." He brought his mouth to Hawke's, lips brushing together until the blond deepened the kiss, paying no mind to the sour taste of sleep. The hand in his hair tightened briefly as he kept that steady pace between them, and he moaned into Hawke's mouth as hands wandered across his pale skin.

Lazily, Hawke took the chance to explore Anders' body, petting the back of his neck, stroking his sides, finding the divots at the base of his spine, all the while sleepy pleasure coiling in his belly. He gasped into Anders' mouth as his lover bit his lower lip, and brought his hands up to frame the blond's face, thumbs stroking over his cheeks as he pulled back from their unhurried kiss. "Won't take much, this morning," Hawke warned.

"Mmm, I bet," Anders murmured, turning his head to kiss Hawke's palm. "Shouldn't keep you waiting, then." The priest worked a hand between them, propping himself on one arm while he eased his trousers and Hawke’s boxers down, freeing both of them. Anders pressed their hard cocks together, moaning softly, then wrapped a hand around them and stroked slowly, hips still thrusting against Hawke's. "Fuck, that's good," he cursed, heavy-lidded eyes watching Hawke's face.

"Anders," Hawke groaned, hands falling to the man's waist. Somehow, this was more intimate than anything they had done yet; Anders' hand squeezing them both together, writhing together slowly in the early morning light. His breath hitched, head falling back as he repeated his lover's name.

Anders shivered at the wetness already spilling between them, fingers slick as they slid across hot flesh, feeling Hawke's cock twitch against his own when his grip tightened. Combined with Hawke languid beneath him, huskily moaning his name, he was already closer than he wanted to be; he never wanted to stop, it all felt too good. "Ahh... do you want me to come all over you, all over your _cock_ , fuck, and just leave you aching and dripping with it?" he asked teasingly.

"Oh, please, come all over me, but Maker no, don’t just leave me afterwards," Hawke protested, fingers clenching on Anders' sides. "Enough, mercy, I need to come, and if you keep squeezing your hand like that..."

"Like this?" Anders asked breathlessly, hips jerking as his hand gripped harder, moved just a bit faster, and Hawke arched against him, legs trembling on either side of him. Pleasure raced down his spine as he looked down, taking in the sight of his fingers around both of them. "You're so... so good, oh, I can't… I want you to come, come with me, Hawke, _yes_ ," he cried, tensing and rutting hard into his fist as he spilled hotly across Hawke's stomach and cock.

The feel of the priest convulsing against him, the desperate words in his ear, had Hawke thrusting just that bit harder upwards, pulling Anders' hips towards him with his grip on his waist. The flare of his head caught on Anders' fingers, and all the coiled tension of the night before rushed out in a loud, stuttered moan as he tensed, cum joining his lover's between them.

Hawke panted into the suddenly still room, mind still hazy, and barely stopped himself from making a huge mistake. _Don't you fucking dare,_ he scolded himself, burying his face in Anders' shoulder with a sigh to keep any words contained. _It's a lie anyway, it's just sex, it’s the whole 'sub' thing, wait a few minutes and you'll think you were ridiculous for even thinking 'I love you'..._ But minutes passed, hot, sticky skin cooling as they breathed together, and the words didn't fade, burning themselves into Hawke's brain until he bit down just to try to push them away.

Anders lay across Hawke's chest, paying no mind to the mess as he enjoyed the simple sensation of skin against skin, Hawke's arms draped around him. It was lovely pretending that he had no duties to attend to, no worries to think of, that all that existed in the world was this room and his lover's warmth surrounding him, and he kept his eyes closed to keep up the illusion. 

The lethargic contentment broke at the feel of Hawke's teeth against his shoulder, and Anders gasped softly and swatted at the man's head. "Brat," he muttered fondly. Pulling back, his smile slipped at seeing Hawke's expression. "What's wrong?"

"Just realizing I won't have you in bed again until next week." Hawke smiled up at him, poorly shoving his inconveniently-discovered feelings aside. Reaching up, he made an effort to brush Anders' sleep-tangled hair out of his face. "Unless you take me up on the key, of course."

"Tempting," Anders said. "At least I don't have to leave so soon today, since Merrill and Lirene gave me the morning off as their 'gift' to me. I don't think I've had a chance to sleep in for years." He sat up and looked at the mess across their skin. "Clean up and stay in bed?"

Hawke pointed wordlessly to the box of tissues next to the bed, and Anders chuckled as he grabbed some, in a better position to do so. Afterwards, he looked for a trash can, but Hawke gently took the tissues from him and - just as gently - tossed them on the floor, pulling the priest firmly back into his arms.

They spent the rest of the morning as a tangle of limbs, neither willing to let the other go.

* * *

Sebastian noticed the cufflinks on Monday. The two of them were arranging the altar after Mass, and the glint of red must have caught his eye. “Those look expensive, brother. Where did you come by them?” he asked.

“They were a gift,” Anders replied simply, adjusting the cuff of his robe and unable to help the fond smile that briefly appeared.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, his tone slightly more accusing than curious. “An interesting gift for someone who advocates charity.”

Anders fixed him with a wry look. “Says the man who wears a gold belt buckle with Andraste’s face under his robe.” He had to see it every day before service for the last six months; it was garish.

The other man glowered at Anders, muttering, “It was a gift,” under his breath as the Revered Mother approached. He gave her a slight bow and walked away to complete other tasks; Anders was about to follow suit, but the Revered Mother lay a hand on his arm.

“I wanted to speak to you for a moment, my son, if I may,” she said.

“Of course,” he replied, his face remaining stoic as his heart raced in sudden, guilty anxiety. 

“This morning, the Grand Cleric sent me the information for next year’s budget. Unfortunately, the additional funding for St. Surana’s isn’t possible, and it seems the traditional monthly amount has also been cut.” She frowned in sympathy, her lips pursed. “I’m sorry. I know how much it means to you.”

Panic gave way to shock as Anders comprehended the words. “But… we can barely afford everything as it is,” he said, gesturing uselessly. “How can they take away…”

“I know, Anders,” Leliana replied consolingly, squeezing his arm, the sudden familiarity halting his protest. “We’ll go over it in my office, if you like. I thought you should know as soon as possible.” 

The Revered Mother left him alone at the altar under the watchful gaze of Andraste, and he stared up at Her statue, feeling helpless and numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS - Mevi wanted to title this chapter "Dun Dun DUNNNN" because we're shitbirds but I told her I'd add it into the notes instead, lol.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags this chapter, just to pre-warn you: face slapping, and the most delicate of blood kinks.

_But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt,_  
_because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind._  
_Trials 1:6_

 

After a long weekend of struggling with himself, trying to decipher his own thoughts, Hawke finally decided he needed help when he woke up late Monday morning and stared at the ceiling, feeling conflicted and miserable. The closest he’d come to a real relationship had been his professor in college, and that had ended before he’d had the chance to develop anything he would have considered ‘love.’ He didn’t know what to do with the emotion, nor the relationship, and finally texted his sister only, _I need help_.

She got back to him within a few minutes - she must have been between classes - and he could hear the sigh in her tone when she asked, _What have you gotten yourself into this time?_

_Just come over. whenever youre free. please_

Something about the sober message, perhaps the ‘please,’ had Bethany halting her teasing; she simply agreed to drop by his house as soon as possible, which turned out to be that afternoon. Hawke fried some eggs, got a bit of exercise in, and then spent the rest of the day staring at the television while his thoughts wandered.

A loud knock sounded around three, but the door opened without Hawke having to get up. Bethany waved cheerfully as she hung her coat in his closet, and then wrinkled her nose when she came closer. “Are you drinking?”

“Just a little.” He settled back into his seat and gestured her towards the couch with the bottle. “We share everything, right?”

“Of course. What happened? You’re not your usual self at all, honey.” She set her bulging backpack down with a heavy thump, and perched carefully on the couch next to him, pursing her lips.

“Nothing happened.” Hawke shrugged, looking down. “I’m being overdramatic.”

Bethany raised her eyebrows. “Okay, now I’m really concerned. What did he do, and how violently would you like me to murder him?”

“What? No!” The question made Hawke sit up straight, and he shook his head insistently. “It’s nothing like that. I just… this isn’t at all like my other relationships, Bethy.”

She snorted. “You can say that again. A long-term secret relationship with a Void-damned priest of the Chantry, and I don’t even want to know how you managed to persuade him into it. As far as I can tell, you’re not fucking around any more, and you’re _happy_ about it. So what’s up?”

It was a long moment before he responded, taking another drink of his beer to waste time, until he finally muttered, “I think I love him.”

“Oh… you idiot.” Despite the words, Bethany’s tone was gentle, and she scooted closer, wrapping his free hand in hers. “You’ve never said that before, have you? What a person to find that with.”

When Hawke only shrugged uncomfortably, his sister said, “You realize if he’s to keep his priesthood, this relationship will stay a secret forever. Are you going to be happy with that?”

Another long pause. Could he? They were happy enough when they were together, and not only when they were having sex, but it meant they couldn’t go out anywhere, and they certainly couldn’t live together if they expected not to start any nasty rumours. _No_ , Hawke thought, though aloud he said, “I… don’t know.”

She shook her head at him, but moved on. “Do you think he feels the same way?”

Hawke snorted. “I doubt it. It’s only been a few months, Bethy. I’m just being ridiculous. People don’t fall in love that quickly, do they? I mean. I’ve never done it before. There are plenty of reasons to think this is just an infatuation.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself,” Bethany said, sounding amused. “A few months? People fall in love faster than that.” She patted his hand. “So have you told Anders the good news yet?”

“You’re joking, right? I’m not going to pressure him like that.”

Her brother looked horrified, and Bethy sighed. “I’m pretty sure he deserves to know, Garrett.”

“Why? It’s not hurting him,” he said defensively.

“It’s going to hurt you, sweetheart.”

Hawke didn’t have an answer for that. Instead, he took another drink from the bottle. “Want a beer?”

Shaking her head, Bethany protested, “I’ll be driving when I leave.”

“You can’t stay?” He winced at the whine in his voice, and tried to make it more casual when he added, “We could watch something. I could make popcorn.”

Her gaze on him was considering as she hesitated, and then she nodded. “Sure. Grab me a beer and I’ll find something on TV. My homework can wait until tomorrow, but I’ve got a shift at Surana’s soon.”

After they were comfortably settled on the couch, bowl of popcorn between them, watching a horror movie Bethy had found, she asked quietly, “What are you going to do?”

Hawke scoffed. “I hoped you could tell me that.”

“It’s _your_ relationship. But the best advice I’ve ever heard is: if you’re happy, stick with it. If you’re not, change something. So figure out if you’re really happy, Garrett.” She patted his knee affectionately, then grabbed the entire bowl of popcorn for herself.

* * *

Having to take care of the rest of his duties while internally panicking was torturous, and Anders left the Chantry as soon as he possibly could. Leliana had gone over the ‘funding’ with him, if it could even be called such, since Elthina had elected to halve the amount the clinic had previously been receiving. How was he supposed to keep the shelter running when he could hardly keep everyone fed as it was? He couldn’t afford to spare anything more from his own income; it occurred to him that he could leave his apartment and live at the clinic himself, but losing his freedom and privacy completely wasn’t yet something he was prepared to do.

Anxious thoughts raced through his head as Anders made his way to St. Surana’s, panic eventually giving way to frustration; by the time he arrived, he was dreading having to go in, having to tell his volunteers the news and bear the constant reminder that what he was doing wasn’t enough, and would never _be_ enough for the poor in Darktown. Was this the Maker punishing him for his selfishness in taking Hawke as a lover? But there was no reason Anders’ indiscretion should affect those in need; surely the Maker would only send his wrath against Anders himself, and not the innocents who would now suffer for the Chantry’s avarice.

The priest sat in his car for a few minutes, trying to compose himself and only becoming more upset. He finally exited, not any calmer than when he’d started, and stalked to the back of the clinic, pacing a moment in the cold before he could bear to go in and face Merrill or Lirene.

What Anders _wanted_ to do was to call Hawke, to talk to him and try to gain some sort of reassurance, but he hesitated, not wanting to bother the man. Their relationship wasn’t just about sex anymore - he couldn’t fool himself into thinking otherwise - but calling him out of the blue to air his issues didn’t seem right. Still, he desperately wanted an emotional connection right then, someone who would listen and be there for him, someone beyond just the Maker, and Andraste forgive him for needing more. Such a thing was impossible long-term, he knew, but he still dialed Hawke’s number before he could talk himself out of it.

“Hey,” Hawke answered almost immediately, and at the sound of his voice, Anders felt himself relax a bit.

“Do you have a moment?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m just at home. What’s up?”

“I…” Anders trailed off, not even knowing where to start. “I told you that I was hoping the clinic would get more funding from the Chantry, didn’t I?”

“Right, I remember.”

“Well, the Revered Mother received the new budget for the year, and... that didn’t happen. Instead, they cut our funding by half.” Unafraid of keeping up an appropriate appearance for Hawke, he felt free to let his bitter resentment leak into his tone, pacing across the lot as he spoke.

“Oh shit,” Hawke said, surprisingly sounding concerned. “How the fuck did they think that was a good idea?”

“The Grand Cleric decided that money needed to be dedicated to the upkeep of the Chantry itself.” Anders gave an incredulous laugh. “Apparently, some of the pews need to be replaced? I don’t know. I can’t possibly imagine what the building needs that it doesn’t already _have_ , it’s not like _they_ don’t have room enough to fit everyone that comes!”

He didn’t pause to let Hawke say anything, just continued ranting, raking a hand through his hair and angrily disrupting a pile of garbage, the sight so common in the area he didn’t even wonder at it. “There are people here who can’t even eat more than once a day, and they’re worried about the way the fucking _benches_ look! How the fuck am I supposed to take care of these people when the Grand Cleric doesn’t even consider them worth our time?! I’ve given this place everything I possibly can, short of living here myself and throwing _all_ of my income into this building. And somehow, I still think that _I’m_ the selfish one for not being willing to go that far!”

Anders kicked a broken bottle into the wall, needing to do _something_ with the anger that boiled inside him. “Andraste would never stand for what the Chantry has become. It’s a pit of greed and idolatry, they spend the time worshiping themselves and their own arrogance. They can’t even remember what the Chantry is _for_. It’s for helping those in need, spreading the Chant, and providing a place of solace, not passing judgment in gilded halls! I don’t even know why I fucking bother.”

The priest sat on the cold cement steps that led inside and put his head into his free hand, frustrated tears pricking at his eyes. There was silence on the other end of the line as he took a calming breath, and eventually whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Hawke replied. “You have every right to be fucking mad. Shit, _I’m_ fucking mad.”

“That wasn’t my intention, either. I’m not sure why I called you.”

“Hey, stop it,” Hawke said gently. “None of this shit is your fault, including me being pissed. You’ve done so much at the clinic with next to nothing, and I know how much you give to that place. What the Grand Cleric is doing is bullshit, and you’re right, they _should_ be focusing on helping people.”

Anders shook his head and sighed. “I shouldn’t be criticizing the Chantry. But nothing is going to change. People are in charge of the Chantry, not Andraste, and people always have prejudices.”

“Then you just have to do what you can. I know all the people there appreciate you and what you do, way more than they appreciate a huge building in Hightown.” Hawke sounded like he’d moved outside, and Anders heard a car door slamming. “Shit, _I_ appreciate you way more than I ever will the Chantry.”

“Obviously,” Anders said, smiling slightly. “I think your reasons are a bit more personal.”

“Heh, doesn’t mean it’s not true.” Hawke cleared his throat. “I’m gonna run out and get a few things, but you know, you can call me whenever you want. Ranting or otherwise. I never mind.”

“All right. Thank you, Hawke,” Anders said, and disconnected.

He felt better after letting out some of his anger, though his anxiety still remained, a nervous energy that had him tapping his fingers and biting his lip. He’d have to think of something to boost the shelter’s income; maybe his volunteers would be able to provide some suggestions.

* * *

The cloud of apprehension remained over Anders as he worked. Merrill and Lirene had been upset at the news, but unsurprised, resigned to the fact that the Chantry would continue to neglect the building. Bethany had been angry, which was a shock, but Anders never really thought she’d have volunteered only to keep an eye on him. She and Merrill discussed ways they could earn additional funding, from charity fundraisers to selling crafts, but none of the options seemed plausible permanently.

Anders finally excused himself to sit in his office and try to collect his thoughts. He’d fight to keep the clinic open as long as he could, but he didn’t know how long that would be. Perhaps he could take out a loan; it wasn’t as though he were using his credit for anything else. He didn’t have any other assets, and the Chantry didn’t provide him with any sort of retirement income he could use. It was assumed that he’d be in the priesthood until his death; the thought had never been so daunting before.

A commotion outside roused him from his thoughts, and he opened his office door in time for Merrill to almost hit him in the face while attempting to knock. “Oh! I’m sorry!” she said, beaming. “But you need to come look!”

“Look at what?” Anders asked. The fact that she was in good spirits meant that it probably wasn’t something new to worry about, but nervousness bloomed anyway.

She led him into the kitchen, where, to his shock, workers were stacking a huge amount of dry goods being brought in from outside. Lirene stood in the center, directing where things should go, and Anders dazedly took in the bounty: rice, flour, cereal, canned goods. Paper goods and first aid supplies were being stacked in the hall for lack of any other space, threatening to topple over. Merrill clapped her hands excitedly as Bethany carried in a crate of apples and oranges, followed by her brother with another box of supplies.

The first coherent thought in the priest’s head was oddly, _I don’t know if we have enough room for all of this_ , followed quickly by, _Why is Hawke here?_ Logic caught up with him finally, and he gaped at Hawke as the man set his crate down on a stack and approached.

“Hey,” Hawke said, grin wide.

“Did you… did you do all this?” Anders asked incredulously.

“Well, yeah,” Hawke said, rubbing his neck and looking almost embarrassed. “I figured it would help, you know? At least for a couple months.”

Anders stood speechless, trying to think of something to say, while Merrill squealed excitedly and threw her arms around Hawke. “You’re so wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Look at all the things! We have _apples_!” She nearly skipped over to the box.

“I’m so proud you’re thinking of people other than yourself,” Bethany said as she came up, dusting her hands and then hitting Hawke on the shoulder as she looked side-eyed at Anders. “Though I think you broke the good Father.”

Anders blinked, caught between surprise and elation that the clinic was suddenly more stocked than it had ever been, and instead latched on to how much this must have cost Hawke. “This is… incredibly generous, but far too much,” he protested.

“Nonsense,” Hawke replied, waving a hand dismissively. “It wasn’t that much at all.” Bethany mouthed “a thousand,” at Anders, whose eyes widened even further, and Hawke gently pushed her away. “Don’t listen to her, it’s fine. Really. I told you I had more than I knew what to do with. I just found a use for it.”

The priest shook his head. “You shouldn’t just… I mean… Maker, I can’t believe you did this for us.”

Hawke shrugged, but he looked at Anders uncertainly. “I wanted to help. I figured it would cheer you up. You _are_ happy, right?”

“Of _course_ I’m happy, I don’t mean to be ungrateful. Five minutes ago I was panicking, and now _this_ , and I’m just… ” Anders gave an incredulous laugh and finally smiled, beaming at Hawke. “Thank you.”

Hawke’s face split into a grin again. “You’re welcome.”

Merrill gave Bethany a gleeful look, the two surreptitiously watching the conversation from the other end of the kitchen, until Lirene rolled her eyes and shoved the girls towards the pantry to help find places for everything. Anders cleared his throat and nodded towards the hallway, and Hawke got the hint, heading to the closet-office.

When the door was securely closed, Hawke asked, “So, can I take you to dinner, too, or is that _too much_?”

Anders threw his arms around Hawke’s shoulders and kissed him, slow and thorough. With a surprised, happy noise, Hawke pulled the blond close, near-giddy with excitement at being able to do something so important for Anders.

The priest pulled back a little after long minutes, eyes shining, and laughed softly. “I might let you. You just took the whole clinic to dinner for _months_ , after all.”

“I, uh… I might have done some other things, before,” Hawke said bashfully.

Anders didn’t look surprised, just smiled and ran his fingers through the hair on the back of Hawke’s neck. “I figured. The heater, the presents, and the catering?”

He nodded, then shrugged. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“The only time you’ve lacked pride,” Anders joked fondly. “I don’t even know how to thank you. For this or... anything else. I don’t know why you’re doing so much, but I’m grateful.”

“Because I can, and I should; it’s something I can do easily.” Hawke _almost_ blurted it out, right then. Anders was looking at him like he was a hero, and holding him close. For a brief moment Hawke actually weighed telling Anders how he felt, but he knew it would only spoil the moment. “And maybe it’s also because I love seeing you happy.” he said instead, grinning cheekily.

The priest blushed, averting his eyes with a smile. “I think altruism is a more noble motivation.”

“I’m far from noble,” Hawke replied, his hands moving down Anders’ back to slide just barely into the waistband of his trousers. “To prove the point, instead of paying for your dinner, I’d actually rather have you take out some of your frustrations on _me_.”

Anders’ gaze snapped up, staring at Hawke for a long moment as his eyes darkened, heat rushing through him at the thought. He let his nails drag deliberately across Hawke’s skin. “Good,” he said, and stepped out of Hawke’s embrace.

Neither of them cared if they were subtle about leaving, striding purposefully down the hall to the back door; Anders counted it lucky enough that he didn’t see Bethany on his way out.

* * *

The drive to Hawke's home was tense, every attempt at conversation quickly dying with the heated, impatient looks the blond sent him from the passenger seat. As soon as the front door shut behind them, Anders had Hawke pressed to it, hands digging into his shoulders, biting sharply at his neck, and Hawke gave in easily, tilting his head back with a groan as the priest closed every inch of space between them.

"Just gonna fuck me like this, with your coat on?" It was meant to be teasing, but Hawke's voice came out breathless, anticipatory, and part of him hoped that Anders would forget the rest of his shattered vows there and then.

Anders had felt like he was spinning in a whirlwind of emotions all day, blown about and helpless. But here, with Hawke willing and eager, he could finally retake the control he sorely needed. Hawke was an anchor, a fixed point that he could grasp and cling to amid the turbulence. Anders drew away from the bruise he'd left on Hawke's neck to wrap a hand around the man's throat as he brought his mouth to Hawke's, the kiss demanding and insistent, biting at Hawke's lower lip until the man whimpered.

"I have more in mind for you than that; there's quite a bit of _frustration_ I need to get out," Anders purred, thumb tracing Hawke's lips. "I want you bent over the desk again so I can slap your ass raw." He tilted his head thoughtfully, considering Hawke's proclivity towards receiving pain, then added, "Unless there's anything else you'd like me to slap?"

The pressure on his neck had Hawke dizzy and distracted, and he moaned. "Fuck yes, spank me, hit whatever you like."

Anders laughed, low and dangerous, and watched Hawke's reactions carefully as he said, "That's not very specific, pet. Hitting your ass and thighs is a given, but there are plenty of other options. Would you like it if I slapped around your cock a bit? Or perhaps slapped your face?"

A sharp intake of breath as Hawke stiffened, the latter thought suffusing him with heat, although he could not have said why. His gaze sharpened on Anders', meeting his eyes, and he nodded once, clearly. "M-my face. I haven't, but... please."

The priest smirked and squeezed his hand around Hawke's throat briefly in reward, then stepped back, leaving Hawke panting against the door. "Later," he said, shrugging off his coat and tossing it over the back of his armchair. "Go fetch my boots, the rope, the lube, and the normal plug, and meet me in your office, naked except for the rosary I _know_ you’re wearing."

As Hawke left hurriedly to comply, Anders went into the other room and moved Hawke's desk chair so he could sit in front of the desk, mind humming in anticipation.

It didn't take long for Hawke to return, clothing doubtlessly piled in a corner somewhere, boots awkwardly clutched in one hand and the rest of the implements delicately balanced across his other arm. Anders covered his mouth to hide a laugh as Hawke carefully deposited everything but the boots on his desk, and had his composure well in hand again when Hawke turned back to him to kneel.

As he stroked and situated the leather, tugging on the laces, Hawke looked up with a mischievous grin. "You don't need to tie me up to spank me, you know, Father. Do you just get off on seeing me in rope?"

Anders raised an eyebrow, but waited until Hawke was done tying the boots before reacting to the comment, grabbing Hawke's hair tightly and forcing the man's head back before shoving him roughly to the ground. He stood and moved around Hawke, waiting until the man tried to rise before he pressed a boot between his shoulderblades, pinning him to the carpet.

"What part of 'I can do anything I want to you' is confusing, pet?" he hissed. "I could hogtie you and leave you in here for an hour to think about it. Do you want that?"

For a brief moment, Hawke tried to fight the weight on his back; he thought he could probably throw Anders off balance, but the heel of the boot dug into his bare flesh, reminding him he had placed the priest in charge of him, and Hawke swallowed a moan, subsiding. He didn't dare speak in response, only shaking his head emphatically at the floor.

Anders let his weight rest on Hawke a moment longer before lifting off, nudging Hawke in the shoulder with the toe of his boot. "Get up," he ordered, and Hawke rose to his knees slowly, looking up at Anders in half-awe, half-insolence. The priest grabbed the rosary around Hawke's neck and twisted it, tightening the beads against his throat threateningly. "Now, are you going to be good for me?"

"Yes, Father," Hawke whispered, chin lifting to expose his throat to the pressure. The beads twitched tighter, and his breathing went ragged, no space in his mind any more to wonder what Anders was planning, much less question it.

"Good boy." The fingers of the priest’s other hand stroked his cheek, and Hawke melted into a rush of pleasure at the praise and affection. Anders finally released the rosary, trailing a hand proprietarily across his jaw before he stepped back and ordered, "Bend over the desk." Hawke stood shakily to obey, pressing his palms flat to the wood.

Anders positioned Hawke to his liking, with his chest against the polished surface and his arms crossed behind his back. He adjusted Hawke's stance so his thickening cock would hang between his legs, nowhere near the furniture, leaving him without any friction, and wound the rope around Hawke's wrists and forearms. Anders tied it off snugly and draped the loose ends to the side. "Too tight?"

Hawke tugged obediently on the rope, testing it, and shook his head. There was the muted sound of a bottle snapping open, and then slick, cold fingers probed at his entrance. The idea that Anders would touch him so intimately was still new, still obscenely arousing, so when two fingers pushed into him with almost no preamble, Hawke cried out loudly, pressing back, and got a chiding slap on the ass for his trouble. Anders prepared him quickly, scissoring his fingers to stretch him open and spreading lube around his hole, and had hardly left Hawke gasping at his sudden emptiness when the plug was slotted into place. Hawke whimpered into the wood under his face.

Anders wiped his fingers on a handful of tissues, surveying Hawke spread out across the desk hungrily. "I'd forgotten how good you look like this," he said, cupping Hawke's ass and squeezing hard. "You'll look even better when you're red and bruised from my hand."

Unlike their first session in Hawke's office, Anders didn't give his lover any time to adjust, just swung his palm hard against the curve of one cheek, relishing Hawke's gasp-turned-moan. The priest brought his hand down again and again, pausing a few tortuous seconds between every few blows to listen to the way Hawke's breathing stuttered. The other cheek received the same treatment, and Hawke's skin began to flush darker under the punishment.

One final hard blow and Anders paused, digging his fingertips into one cheek before tracing them down his cleft to where the plug sat. "Do you want it harder, pet?"

"Yes, more, please!" Hawke had barely gotten the words out when Anders' hand swung again, impacting the base of the plug, and he jolted against the desk at the rush of shocking pleasure as it shifted just right inside him. Every few strokes, then, the priest would hit the toy dead-on, and Hawke cried out, arching his back to meet the blows.

Pain built with each strike, a wonderful, delicious burst of sensation that broke Hawke down and rocked him with sparks of need, even before Anders had added the sharp pleasure that laced through it now. Hawke eventually realized he was mumbling pleas for more, clutching at what he could reach of the ropes and his wrists, rolling his hips back and twisting in a vain attempt to get some sort of friction against his flushed cock. "Please, please, please," he whimpered, scraping his piercings against the desk as he writhed, but even that wasn't enough, the rhythm of pleasure too uneven, his hips too far back, and Hawke let out a wracking sob.

Anders gripped the knot of rope, pressing Hawke against the desk to hold him in place as he rained blows across the man's ass. He laid several hard strikes on the base of the plug, then raked his nails across Hawke's tender skin, leaving white furrows engraved in his flesh. Hawke cried out desperately, bucking back against his hand. "Don't think I've forgotten what happened last time," Anders growled. "You're not allowed to come. If you want anything, you have to beg me for it."

Hawke nodded frantically, but didn't ask for what Anders had expected, instead begging, "Nails, please again, please, _shit_!" He howled as Anders complied, scraping across a new spot on his bruised ass, then down his thigh. The priest seemed pleased with his reaction, continuing to drag lines across random spots as he panted, trembled, arched and cried out, buried in overwhelming sensation and need.

Anders swatted at Hawke's hip and raked his nails across the fresh sting. Watching Hawke writhe and listening to the desperate noises he made had Anders thrusting his cock against Hawke's ass, the scrape of the fabric against Hawke's bruised skin making the man shiver. Anders wanted Hawke on his knees, to press himself between his lips and feel that sinful mouth again; the priest had been thinking of little else for days, when his mind turned to such things. "Do you want more?" he panted, spanking across the plug, relishing the ragged cry it drew. "Or do you want me to fuck your mouth?"

Part of the man wanted to stay there forever, letting sensation layer on sensation, pain on pleasure until he shook apart under Anders' hands - but the idea of tasting Anders again was too tempting. "Let me suck you.”

Anders yanked against the ropes around Hawke's arms with a growl, pulling him back off the desk and turning him around before shoving him to his knees. Hawke's head fell back against the wood, eyes dark with lust as Anders unfastened his belt and freed his cock. He stroked along the length slowly, cupping his other hand around Hawke's jaw as he ordered, "Be a good boy and beg for me."

Ass and thighs burned in this position, and Hawke rocked into it, savouring the feel of the plug shifting inside him. He ran his tongue along his teeth, staring up at Anders, and the corner of his lips quirked into a grin. "Why don't you just take what you want, Father?"

The priest raised an eyebrow, releasing Hawke's jaw and taking a step back, the man's grin faltering as he moved away. Anders kept his eyes on Hawke's face as he lashed out deliberately and struck Hawke's cheek with the back of his hand, whipping his head back.

Anders gripped a handful of Hawke's hair. "That's _not_ what I asked for. Try again."

It took Hawke a moment to process the burst of pain, the disorientation, especially with his hands tied behind his back so he had to rely on the hand in his hair to stabilize him. When it resolved, he was panting, harder than before - if that were possible - and not feeling like he should be very obedient, if that was what he got out of it. He took in a shaky breath, and finally raised dark eyes to meet Anders' again, red blooming obviously across his cheek and arousal curling in his gut. "Make me."

Anders' lip curled in a wicked smirk, and he released Hawke's hair, thinking, _If that's how he wants it, that's how he'll get it_. He struck Hawke again across his other cheek, the blond's fingers stinging with the blow as Hawke's head twisted with it, a moan falling from his lover's lips. Hawke looked up at him after a moment, expression still arrogant, and flicked his tongue over his split bottom lip, catching a trace of blood; the sight of it nearly undid the priest.

Before he could speak, Anders fisted his hair and pushed his head against the desk, forcing his jaw open with a thumb and pressing his cock between Hawke's lips, barely stopping himself from just _taking_ his throat like he wanted. "Can you hit the desk?" he breathed, holding himself in check, and Hawke let out a muffled whine and shifted slightly until he demonstrated. "Twice to stop." He waited for Hawke to nod, looking up at him with pleading eyes, then thrust into his throat.

Anders took him faster than he could adjust, Hawke's throat spasming around his cock as he gagged on it, all his concentration on relaxing properly and holding himself upright. His lip and cheeks stung, his ass blazed with pain, his shoulders ached in their sockets, and Hawke reveled in it all as Anders held his head in place, filling his throat, staying in place for long seconds until Hawke jerked backwards involuntarily, and the priest gave him just enough space to breathe.

Only a brief reprieve, and then Anders was using his throat again, quick, deep thrusts, and it was all Hawke could do to shield his teeth and take in air when he was allowed. Hawke moaned around the cock stretching his lips, trapped, surrounded, and blinked away tears when he opened his eyes to look up and take in Anders' expression.

Anders' eyes were half-lidded, lips parted as he panted with the effort of maintaining some semblance of control. He let Hawke breathe for another moment, brushing back his lover's hair gently and sliding his thumb across Hawke's reddened cheek to feel Hawke swallow his cock as he thrust forward again. "So fucking good," he murmured, and he felt the moan in response around his length. "You’re beautiful. Wish I could use your mouth all night, pet."

 _You can do whatever you want_ , Hawke thought, eyes slipping shut as he fell into their rhythm, precum salty and wonderful on the back of his tongue. He didn't even feel like he needed to come any more, satisfied by Anders' pleasure and the quiet sounds above him, floating on the haze of sensation his abused body had brought him to. The priest's hands clenching in his hair had Hawke relaxing, trying to open his jaw wider, working his throat in an attempt to be a better vessel for his lover's pleasure.

A shiver coursed through Anders as Hawke's posture loosened, as he allowed Anders to use him as he saw fit. The priest's cock twitched in delicious, wet heat and a stream of low adoration fell from his lips, praising Hawke's mouth, his beauty, his obedience. Anders couldn't last much longer like this, with Hawke perfectly subservient and moaning around his cock with each thrust. "Oh fuck, your _mouth_ ," he groaned, pulling back so Hawke could breathe quickly. "I'm close. Take a deep breath for me, pet."

Before he'd really thought about it, Hawke was obeying, sucking in air, and then Anders was filling him again, slotting into place down the back of his throat like he belonged there, only thrusting shallowly until Hawke grew dizzy from lack of air. The murmured praise turned into harsh breaths when Hawke swallowed around him again, and then Anders' cock jerked, spilling down his throat as the priest moaned, holding Hawke's nose pressed into short golden curls of hair.

Anders let out a soft moan as he panted, gripping the desk to steady himself while he withdrew from Hawke's mouth. His fingers threaded through Hawke's hair as the man took in great heaving breaths of air, and Anders hissed at the scrape of beard against his softening arousal.

It took a gentle tug against his scalp for Hawke to look up at him, eyes shining and dark. "Come here," the priest said huskily, helping Hawke to his feet until he could lean against the desk.

When Anders reached around to untie the ropes binding Hawke's arms, the man winced, rolling his shoulders before his arms wrapped around Anders' waist and pulled him close. The blond nuzzled against Hawke's neck as his hand trailed down to his lover's flushed cock and below to where the plug still rested between his cheeks. "Should take this out," he murmured, Hawke's breath hitching against his ear as he twisted it gently.

"Only if you're going to replace it with something better," Hawke said, and gasped as Anders tapped the end of the toy in reprimand.

"Cheeky to the end," the priest tutted, tugging it out and setting it aside. "But I'm feeling generous," he added before Hawke could do more than whine in protest, and pushed three fingers in.

It wasn't an easy glide, his fingers wider than the plug and no new lube added, but it was thick and rough and perfect, just like their encounter so far, and Hawke let out a ragged moan. Spreading his legs to give Anders easier access, he breathed, "Fuck, yes please."

The priest crooked his fingers as he thrust, latching his teeth onto one nipple ring and tugging hard, and Hawke's hands gripped his shoulders tightly, digging into the fabric of his shirt as he begged raggedly for more. A hand braced on the desk next to Hawke’s hip, and Anders bent lower, breath trailing across the man’s leaking cock. "What makes you think you deserve a reward after being so insolent?" the blond asked darkly, stilling his hand and moving along with the desperate rock of Hawke's hips.

"I don't," Hawke gasped, unable to stop rolling his hips, though Anders gave him nothing more. "I only - deserve what you want to give me - but fuck, _please_ , Father, I need it, I need you, fill me up and empty me out, oh, Maker, fucking please!"

Anders' breath ghosted over Hawke's skin as he chuckled, and he glanced up and favored Hawke with a smirk, meeting his lover's desperate eyes. "I do love it when you beg so prettily," he murmured, and let his tongue flick across the head of Hawke's cock before taking it in his mouth, lips sliding down Hawke's shaft as he fucked Hawke's hole savagely with his fingers, angling to hit his prostate with each thrust.

For a second, it was all too much, Hawke's jaw dropping open silently as he clutched the desk behind him, Anders' harsh fingers and impossibly hot mouth overwhelming him. Then he was screaming, tightening around the priest's fingers, helpless to even choke out a warning as he curled forward and came hard, filling his lover's mouth.

The hard clench of Hawke's ass was enough warning, Anders already well aware that it wouldn't take much, and the blond swallowed and hummed around Hawke's length, tracing his tongue wetly across it as he crooked his fingers once more, coaxing out every drop. Mouth and fingers withdrew only when Hawke shuddered and pulled at Anders' hair, urging him up with a whine. The priest lapped at Hawke's split lip before capturing his mouth, the sharp tang of copper mixing with their combined tastes.

Later, as they lay in bed, Anders sighed into Hawke’s hair. “Still sore?” he asked, and chuckled at Hawke’s immediate nod, pulling him closer under the blankets. “Do you regret it?”

“Maker, no,” Hawke said fervently. Every bit of that had been wonderful, even if he wished now that there were really such a thing as magic; his ass could certainly use some healing. He probed at his split lip with his tongue. “Although people might be asking questions about my face tomorrow.”

Anders winced. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I’ll avoid your face in the future.”

Hawke was already shaking his head, and when Anders paused, he said, “Please don’t. I liked it. I _loved_ it, actually, especially knowing I provoked it deliberately, and I could do it again.” With a grin, Hawke added, “And if Varric asks, he may learn more than he wanted to know.”

“I’m not sure you could tell Varric more than he wants to know,” Anders said carefully. “So… all that worked for you? I didn’t go too far, and you never want to see me again?” It sounded teasing, but the priest was nervous; the way he’d hit his lover - _stepped_ on him, even - wasn’t exactly a small thing, and could easily have been too much.

“I loved it,” Hawke reiterated, craning his head up from Anders’ shoulder for a quick kiss. “I could ask you the same thing. I wasn’t exactly… obedient.”

“You were gorgeous,” the blond reassured him. “Bratty or submissive, I’ll take it and give you what you need.” After a pause, he continued, “And you were wonderful today, too. I… don’t know how I can ever repay you for what you gave my clinic.”

Tightening his arms around his lover, Hawke shook his head. “You don’t need to repay me. I mean, I did it for you but I did it for them, too. People need to eat.”

 _How did I get so lucky?_ Anders thought. A rich, submissive, beautiful man, who seemed to want nothing more than to make him happy and be tied up and fucked in rapturous ways? It was almost too good to be true. “Thank you,” he said again, burying his face in Hawke’s hair.

They lay quietly a little while longer, neither ready to give up the warmth of each other’s company, though at some point, Hawke would have to bring Anders back to the clinic so he could take his own car home. Hawke closed his eyes, breathing in his lover’s scent, and decided that he _was_ happy with this. It wasn’t an ideal relationship, but he was quite certain those didn’t actually exist, and at least for the moment, the benefits outweighed the drawbacks. So he’d keep quiet on the subject of love, and hope Anders got there in his own time.

He’d just have to try really hard not to blurt it out in the middle of sex.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated. This was supposed to be mostly (smutty) filler. Thanks boys for bringing feels into it. <3

_Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins._  
_Benedictions 4:8_  


 

Hawke had texted Anders to tell him they’d be having dinner when he arrived on Wednesday, since he’d promised it before, but Anders didn’t expect anything more than takeout again. Hawke greeted Anders at the door with a wide grin and invited him to have a seat at the table. But when the priest caught sight of the empty bags Hawke had shoved aside on the counter, he stopped short. “Are those… you bought food from Orana’s?!” he asked. It was a high-class steakhouse in Hightown, one that Anders could never dream of going to.

“Yeah, I figured you haven’t had steak in forever and you deserve something nice.” Hawke winked, but when he saw Anders’ face, his expression changed to surprise. “What is it?”

“There is a difference between _nice_ and _ridiculously expensive_ ,” Anders said.

Hawke just shrugged. “It wasn’t that much, it’s fine.”

Flustered, the priest shook his head. “You can’t just keep buying me whatever you want, Hawke.”

The brunet sighed and set down the silverware he was using to dish out portions, and turned to face Anders with a serious expression. “I grew up poor, so I know what it’s like. And then my family came into a giant inheritance, and I did a lot of smart things with the money I got, just to make sure that I _can_ buy whatever I want,” he said. “I don’t need a big house or a fancy car. I like eating well, and I enjoy spoiling you, and I don’t see what’s wrong with doing both at once.”

“Except that you’ve just spent a thousand dollars on me this week,” Anders argued. “That was a lot, and this adds on to it, and I don’t…” He tried to think of a better way to put it than _I don’t want to feel indebted to you_ , but Hawke broke in before he had it figured out.

“I just want to do something nice for you. I mean, yeah, the clinic stuff counts, but I didn’t do it for _you_ , exactly. I should be able to spend money on my boyfriend, especially if it’s just sitting there in a bank account. I’m not doing this to show off for you - and we’ve got the food now, so it doesn’t matter, right?” he asked plaintively.

Anders pursed his lips. “I appreciate the sentiment, Hawke. I do. It’s wonderful what you did for the clinic, and it’s wonderful that you want to share nice things with me. I just… not so much, please. It doesn’t feel fair.”

For a moment, Hawke just stared at him, embarrassed, and then averted his gaze as he mumbled, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

The priest rested his hand on Hawke’s shoulder, then stepped close behind him to kiss the back of his neck. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful,” he said. “I just don’t want this to be so one-sided, when I can’t do anything for you in return.”

“You do plenty for me,” Hawke insisted. “Even besides the sex. You’re good to me. I want to return the favour.” He turned his head and gave Anders a smile.

“Hmm, so good to you that I leave you with this,” the priest said with a smirk, thumbing the healing split on Hawke’s lower lip. “Did anyone comment on it?”

“Varric advised me to stop pissing people off, and Isabela did her ‘wink and laugh and ask terrible questions’ thing. I think both of them are used to seeing me with bruises.” Hawke wiggled his eyebrows.

The food was amazing, as was the wine, which Anders didn’t ask about, but assumed was also quite expensive. The priest insisted that he could handle the dishes since Hawke had purchased dinner, but that didn't stop Hawke from following him into the kitchen and attempting to distract him. 

Hawke wrapped his arms around Anders from behind, which the blond allowed, until he started trying to slip his hands under his shirt. Then Hawke darted kisses against Anders’ neck, and Anders tolerated it with a smile until Hawke nipped at his ear, after which he was banished firmly to the couch until the dishes were finished.

They eventually settled onto the couch in their familiar position, Anders' fingers lacing through Hawke's hair, with Hawke nestled against him. He'd been thinking of what he wanted to do to the man all night, and now he was teasingly scratching his nails across Hawke's scalp and over the back of his neck, drawing out his lover's anticipation as they watched a drama together.

Hawke was nearly vibrating with impatience by the time the priest tugged on his hair to get his attention. "I have plans for you tonight, pet. Why don't you go shower and clean up for me?"

"All by myself?" Hawke blinked up at him innocently, dark lashes fluttering. "But what if I get distracted? You should come make sure I clean thoroughly."

Anders rolled his eyes. "And you don't think my presence will be an even bigger distraction?" he asked. Hawke simply pouted, and Anders sighed with feigned reluctance. "Fine."

A triumphant grin lit Hawke's face as he pulled Anders to his feet and toward the shower, pleased to get the man naked again, no matter how many times he had seen it. As he shut the bathroom door behind them and began stripping, Hawke said casually, "I've been thinking of implementing a no-clothing rule in my house."

"To be honest, I'm surprised you haven't decided that already," Anders said dryly. "You act like you're allergic to trousers." When Hawke gave him a pointed look, he stopped letting himself be distracted by the sight before him and started undressing. "If you mean for it to apply for _everyone_ , that could be complicated."

"I mean for it to apply to _you_ ," Hawke replied, and then paused after he turned the water on. "Except for your boots. Or sexy things, like your collar. I wouldn't mind seeing you in leather pants, either... oh, or your cassock." Grinning as he stood, waiting for the spray to heat, Hawke implored, "Can you bring your cassock home one day?"

"Excuse me?" Anders said incredulously, pulling off his undershirt and staring at Hawke, "You want me to defile that, too? Maker, no, not when I have to wear it every day. Also, I think I'd look ridiculous in just the boots and the collar, thank you."

Hawke shrugged, testing the temperature and then stepping into the tub, leaving the glass door cracked open. "Just the boots, then," he called. "I'll buy you a separate cassock, how's that? One just for us."

Anders removed the rest of his clothing and dropped his saint's amulet on the counter, shaking his head though he knew Hawke couldn't see it. He stepped in behind Hawke, closing the glass and running his hands over Hawke's shoulders. "Maybe," he said, lips brushing against his ear. "Shall I have you kneel before me, give you ten seconds to unbutton it, otherwise you get nothing?"

The thought made Hawke shiver. "Depends on what you mean by 'nothing'," he teased, "because if it means you're going to do horrible things to me and not let me come, I may be too distracted to try my hardest. Or maybe I'd just duck under it and wrap my lips around you before you could object."

The priest chuckled. "That does sound like something you'd do. Points for creativity." He kissed Hawke's neck, hands trailing down Hawke's arms appreciatively. "Now be a good boy and get clean for me."

Hawke grabbed the soap and washcloth obediently and pretended not to watch Anders as he lathered himself up, catching his thumb on his lips as he ran the washcloth up his neck, sliding both hands down the thick hair slicked over his chest and sucking in a breath when he paid special attention to his nipple rings. He made a deliberate show of it, tilting his head back to let water sluice the soap off his muscles, biting his lip as his hands trailed further down.

Anders was happy to let Hawke tease for a bit, watching as his hands roamed across his hips. He did enjoy it when Hawke deliberately provoked a reaction from him. The priest pinched Hawke's nipple rings and twisted, and Hawke's gaze snapped up to meet his smirk. "Do you want me to help you?" he asked, letting his fingers run down Hawke's chest to meet the hand holding the cloth.

"Please do," Hawke invited, and near purred when Anders took the washcloth from him, running it over his body, down one thigh. He slipped his hands up into Anders' loosened hair, encouraging him closer until the priest's arms had wrapped around him to spread the soap along his back, and he brushed his lips along Anders’. Stroking the blond’s scalp, Hawke tugged gently, wondering if he could get away with sinking his teeth into his lover's neck.

Anders hummed in approval at the feeling of Hawke's hands threading through his hair, deepening the kiss and letting his tongue slide languidly against Hawke's. He guided the washcloth down across Hawke's ass, caressing both cheeks, and slipped his fingers down the cleft to tease Hawke's entrance, pressing inside gently.

Arching back with an encouraging moan, Hawke moved his lips to Anders' jaw, mouthing along the rough stubble until he could nibble just below his ear. He pulled Anders close with the hands in his hair, tonguing his way down the man's neck while his ass was soaped quite thoroughly, and sealed his mouth to soft flesh at the base of his throat, where the mark he started working on would be covered by clothing.

Worry immediately flashed in Anders' mind, right after the shock of surprise and pleasure, but he quickly realized that Hawke was being deliberately careful. Still, he groaned and slid a hand around to cup Hawke's throat, urging him back. "Did I give you permission to do that?" he murmured.

"Please," Hawke begged prettily, licking his lips; he hadn't been ready to stop, and his eyes flicked hungrily to the bruise forming dark against Anders' pale skin. "You mark me up however you want, can I have just one?"

Anders pretended to consider, dragging his thumb across Hawke's adam's apple. The thought of Hawke marking _him_ , of wearing a reminder of his lover’s presence, shouldn’t have thrilled him as much as it did. "Go ahead, then," he said, releasing Hawke's throat and tilting his head back to grant him access.

As soon as Anders yielded, Hawke lunged forward, folding his arms around the man’s waist as he pressed his lips to his neck again. He scraped his teeth over wet flesh, and felt the groan under his lips when he pulled skin into his mouth, darkening the mark deliberately, hands wandering Anders' back. The priest didn't allow him to just touch and explore often, unless they were idly lying in bed, and he intended to take advantage while he could.

Hawke's mouth seared pleasure across Anders' skin, and he shivered as the hands around his waist tightened to pull the blond closer, both of them letting out a moan as their cocks slid together wetly. But this wasn't how Anders had planned the evening to go, and after a few more lovely moments, he pulled Hawke's head back by the hair. "Bedroom," he ordered, sliding his lips against Hawke's before stepping away reluctantly.

"Yes," Hawke agreed, fumbling for the tap behind him. He tossed Anders a towel as they got out, both of them drying off perfunctorily, and Hawke was the first into his bedroom, snagging Anders' boots from where they sat at the foot of his bed. With an eager smile at the priest as he was followed in, Hawke asked, "Is there anything else you'd like me to fetch before I get on my knees for you?"

"Just the collar," Anders said, sitting on the bed and looking Hawke’s naked body over appreciatively. "But nothing else tonight."

It only took a moment for Hawke to retrieve it. This time, when he knelt gracefully to slip the boots onto Anders' feet, there were no clothes in the way, and he pressed a kiss to the priest's knee before he started. Where he'd normally caress the leather as he went, his hands moved over flesh instead, touching Anders' calves almost reverently, sliding over thin, blond body hair and rubbing gently at the muscles. Hawke worked his way up one calf as he slowly encased it in black leather, tugging the laces tight, and dared to press his lips to Anders' inner thigh while he tied it off, darting his tongue against skin before he began on the other.

Anders hummed fondly and ran a hand over Hawke's damp hair as the man laced the second boot, placing the same kiss to the priest's other thigh as he tied the laces. Anders reached forward to buckle the collar behind Hawke’s neck, watching with a smug smile as the man’s eyes unfocused, then looped a finger through the ring and tugged lightly.

Hawke’s gaze moved to eye Anders' cock in anticipation, and he made a point of running his tongue across his lower lip. "Not tonight," the blond said with a smirk. "Get on the bed, on your hands and knees."

As Hawke complied, Anders stood and walked over to the chest, taking the bottle of lube out for later use. Hawke's ass was still bruised from their previous encounter, and as Anders settled behind him on his knees, he bent to press his lips to Hawke's tender skin.

Only days before, Anders had spanked him raw, and Hawke groaned as the man traced over the fading signs of it with lips and tongue, occasionally scraping teeth across them as well. He spread his legs and hung his head, the collar reminding him of its presence as it dug into his neck, and he breathed out wordless appreciation of the hands running up and down his thighs.

"You look so lovely when you're bruised," Anders purred. "You could hardly walk after I was done with you." He sank his teeth briefly into an unmarked patch of skin, tracing across it with his tongue as he raked his nails down Hawke's thighs. "I wonder if I can get the same reaction from you tonight."

The blond spread Hawke's ass and breathed hotly across his lover's hole, kissing teasingly next to it and nipping one cheek, then swiped his tongue slowly across the ring of muscle, hands holding Hawke's hips tightly.

Hawke let out a needy sound, and then dropped to his elbows at the jolt of pleasure when Anders repeated the movement. "Fuck," he choked, arching to press back into it. "That feels fucking amazing." Then the priest hummed satisfaction, and Hawke would not admit that the noise he made was a squeak at the way it vibrated through him.

Thumbs dug into his ass, spreading him wider, and Hawke's breathing turned ragged as Anders' mouth tormented him, darting his tongue over the sensitive bud, pulling at it with his lips, even biting gently before he pressed the tip of his tongue into the center, wriggling like he intended to work it inside. Lovers had done this to him before, but not nearly so meticulously nor so enthusiastically, and Anders seemed to be enjoying himself, humming and grunting against his sensitive hole. Before long, Hawke was panting and whimpering, having to fight to hold his hips obediently still.

Anders could feel Hawke trembling with the urge to thrust back against his mouth, and his grip tightened as he breached Hawke's entrance with his tongue, curling it inside and making another pleased noise as his lover cried out. The priest intended to worship Hawke's ass until he couldn't stand it any longer and begged for more, his own cock eagerly twitching as his tongue twisted again and Hawke shivered.

Hawke tried to be good and patient, he really did, but the way that tongue worked inside him, shivering along his senses as Anders practically fucked him with it, reminded him intimately of something thicker, longer, filling him up. He was rolling his hips back before he knew what he was doing, rutting against the priest's face, and when Anders only continued the assault on his hole, spreading him with that slick, talented tongue, Hawke gave in. "Please, deeper, fuck me, please."

The blond chuckled against his skin as he released one hip, mouth and tongue still working Hawke open, and trailed a thumb across the spit-slick skin underneath his entrance. He removed his mouth, pressing a kiss to Hawke's cheek as he worked his thumb inside the man’s wet hole slowly, letting out a groan at the sight. He tongued around the ring of muscle as he thrust the digit in and out, letting Hawke rock his hips back against the dual sensations.

"You really like doing that, don't you?" Hawke moaned distractedly, trying - and failing - to get Anders in deeper. The priest only laughed softly, laving his wet tongue over his stretched rim, and Hawke whimpered into his own arms. Since Anders seemed indulgent right now, and not inclined to punish him for speaking out, Hawke tried saying, "More."

Nails dug into Hawke's hip as Anders pulled his mouth away, leaning back and swatting at Hawke's bruised ass. "Ask me nicely, pet," he ordered, crooking his thumb as he continued thrusting.

Hawke whined, hips still rocking. "Please, more. Give me more."

"Better," Anders said. He withdrew his thumb and gave a last, long lick across Hawke's opening, then reached for the lube at his side. He slicked two fingers and teased at his lover's hole, rubbing circles, only flicking the tips inside briefly until Hawke let out a frustrated moan, and only then did Anders thrust both in agonizingly slowly, keeping the same languid pace as before.

Anders seemed determined to draw this out, but for the moment Hawke was just happy to be _filled_ , thighs trembling as the long fingers slid in and out, stretching him with a delicious burn. Then they bent downward as Anders slid them in, barely grazing against his prostate, and Hawke arched at the pleasure that teased at his nerves. "You're doing this on purpose," he complained, resisting the urge to thrust back harder.

"You can't blame me if I want to savour this," Anders replied with a smirk, acquiescing and angling his fingers to hit the spot Hawke longed for with each movement of his hand. "I love playing with your ass."

After withdrawing for a brief moment, he resumed working Hawke's hole. A third finger grazed against it, and Anders dragged the nails of his free hand down Hawke's thigh and back up, sparking sensation across his skin. "I also love making you beg," he purred, pulling out to press all three fingers together.

"Fuck," Hawke cursed, as Anders' fingers sunk in again, stretching him perfectly but far too gently, spreading thick pleasure through his veins, and groaned when his knuckles ground against his sensitive rim. "You want me to beg for it, Father?" he asked, panting making his words shake.

The priest only thrust shallowly, too slowly, and Hawke took a shuddering breath as he rocked back on it. "Please, Father, stretch me wide, fuck me harder, faster, deeper, rake your nails over my skin. Make me hurt for you and howl for you and beg, and deny me because I'm _yours_ , Father, please."

Filled with a fierce longing sparked by possessiveness, Anders pushed his fingers deep, nails scoring over the bruises covering Hawke’s ass as he fucked the man steadily with his hand. "Put your legs together," he ordered, slapping Hawke's thigh, and the man complied with a whimper, arching his ass up as he leaned forward on his elbows. 

Anders moved closer, still working his fingers in Hawke as his cock pressed between Hawke's thighs, sliding against taut skin, the hair on Hawke's legs giving only a bit of friction as he thrust. It wasn't _nearly_ what Anders wanted, but the tight warmth around his cock still felt lovely. "Fuck yes, you're _mine_ ," he groaned. "Maker, pet, I'd give you anything, everything I could, until you were ruined for anyone else."

Hawke's body jolted when Anders' cock pressed against him, and for a disorienting moment he thought - but no, the priest wasn't replacing his fingers, he was sliding between his thighs, and Hawke moaned as he pressed them tighter together, squeezing the fingers inside him. Anders' cock brushed against his balls as he thrust, a parody of fucking him, and Hawke was hardly aware of the words that fell from his lips as he whimpered, "You already have, you have no idea. Fuck, Father, use me, _yes_."

Anders couldn't help the shudder that ran through him at Hawke's pleading words. The grip of Hawke's thighs against his cock wasn't enough, not to quench the burning desire he had for his lover, and the priest desperately wanted to give in. _And why shouldn't I?_ he thought. His vow of celibacy had broken long before, the Chantry had refused all his pleas for aid with his clinic, and Anders had instead gotten everything he’d needed from Hawke - and more - without the man expecting a return. Maker damn him, but he knew where his devotion lay; he needed Hawke so badly, in every way, and nothing else mattered in this moment.

Anders growled and withdrew his fingers roughly from Hawke's ass, reaching for the bedside table where he knew the man kept condoms, flinging open the drawer.

At first, Hawke cried out in protest at the sudden loss, distraught at Anders' hands leaving him, but when he turned to watch the blond and saw him pulling out one of his _condoms_ , of all Maker-damned things, his breath left him in disbelief. Anders couldn’t be - granted, they had gone further and further, all these weeks, Anders allowing himself more and more, but this was an invisible line the priest had never dared to cross.

When Anders pulled the little foil packet open, though, struggling and finally tearing it with a frustrated noise, Hawke could only spread his legs in offering, begging inarticulately, "Please, please, _please_."

Fingers trembling with anticipation, Anders prepared himself and guided the tip of his cock to rest against Hawke's entrance, letting out a shaky moan as he pressed forward, so slowly, wanting to savour every second of sinking into Hawke's tight heat for the first time, eyes wide as he finally, finally thrust inside his lover. His fingers gripped Hawke's hips tightly, cursing softly when the man clenched around him as he thrust in to the hilt, forcing himself to hold still and ignore the sinfully delicious pleasure coursing through him so Hawke could adjust. "Oh, fuck, you're _perfect_ ,” he groaned.

"Anders," Hawke whispered shakily. He knew it wasn't what he was supposed to be calling his lover at the moment, but he couldn't help himself. He'd hoped, begged, fantasized about this, but never actually thought it would come to pass - the priest seated inside of him, buried deep, body heat like a core of blazing lust. "I'm dreaming," Hawke said, letting out a little laugh of disbelief, and squeezed tight just to hear the catch in the blond’s breath.

Anders breathed a laugh of his own and ran a soothing hand across Hawke's lower back. "It's not a dream, pet. I just... fuck, I need you so much," Anders said softly, pulling out and thrusting back in slowly, shivering at how good it felt to finally be inside his lover.

"You feel amazing." Hawke pushed himself back up on his hands to gain some leverage, arched his back and spread his legs further. He wondered, a bit, if this was the line that broke Anders' vows, or if they had been increasingly shattered with every step they'd taken together. Either way, he was immeasurably grateful to have been given this level of devotion, of trust, and he bit his tongue on the words he wanted to say. "I need you, too," Hawke managed instead.

A different sort of warmth spread through Anders, surrounded completely by Hawke, hearing the affection in his voice. Instead of replying, he thrust harder, still keeping the same pace, and hooked a finger through Hawke's collar, pulling to arch his head back.

The sudden pressure on Hawke's throat left him gasping, the stretch and slide of Anders' cock almost too much, with how much it meant, and he was briefly grateful for the priest starting slow. Now, though, he wanted to be consumed, and he pressed into the collar a little, thrust his hips back, and clenched down on the hot length inside him to encourage Anders to _move_.

As Hawke tightened around him, Anders cursed, keeping his hold on the collar while he gave in and set a harder rhythm. The priest scraped his nails down his lover's back, relishing the noises Hawke was making. "You're so good for me, you take my cock so well," he purred.

The shallow breaths Hawke was able to get were making him wonderfully dizzy, and he cried out when Anders scratched him sharply again, digging the furrows deeper. Pain laced through his pleasure, spiking it higher, and Hawke shook, unable to respond, as the priest slammed into him.

One more scrape of his nails across Hawke's skin, quick and hard, had pinpricks of blood welling along the sharpened lines. Anders bent and lapped at one, groaning at the metallic tang, thrusting deep and merely grinding against his lover shallowly until Hawke managed a pleading noise. The grip on the collar tightened, Anders yanking on it as he ordered, "Up on your knees, pet."

Back stinging, dazed and distracted, it took Hawke a moment to move as requested, and he whimpered as it changed the angle of Anders inside him, opening him up in new ways. Anders kept hold of the collar as he moved, though he was allowed to take a few full breaths before Anders wrapped that hand around Hawke's throat directly instead, pulling him in tight. Hawke let out a strangled sound of need, his head falling back on the priest's shoulder.

Anders brought his other arm around Hawke's waist, keeping him pinned close as he resumed the hard, deep thrusts that had both of them moaning. "That's it, pet, you feel so fucking good," Anders murmured. He sank his teeth into Hawke's shoulder, sucking and lapping at his skin, wanting to leave marks along every inch he could reach.

It was only fair, Hawke thought as his eyes fell closed, that Anders marked him up; he felt bound, enveloped, and so very owned as the priest held him in place and fucked him open, taking his pleasure from his flesh. He didn't know what to do with his hands, until he braced them on Anders' thighs behind him, whispering between shaky sounds, "Yours."

The priest felt Hawke tighten convulsively around him as he rocked back to meet each thrust, the tremor in his legs as Anders angled himself just right, and he slowed, panting against Hawke's ear. "Are you close already? Don't come yet, beautiful, hold off for me. Think of how good it'll be when I finally let you." Hawke let out a desperate whine, and Anders loosened the grip on his throat, nuzzling at his neck until his lover stopped shivering. "Good boy. You've gotten so much better at this, pet."

"Think... how good I'll be... in a few months," Hawke panted, chest heaving as he tried not to writhe. He _was_ close, of course Anders could tell, his cock hanging heavy and sensitive, and to distract himself he turned his head, mouth seeking, until Anders captured his lips, tongue thrusting roughly to parody the way his cock moved inside him.

Anders moaned into Hawke's mouth, rocking faster against him as he pressed his nails into Hawke's neck. He wasn't sure how much longer _he_ could last, nearly overwhelmed with sensation and still wanting more. The blond had never even contemplated the idea of experiencing such pleasure or intimacy again, but now that he'd finally let himself this far, he never wanted it to stop. Anders knew he'd never be able to live without this now, never knew how he'd managed to convince himself otherwise.

They broke away for air and Anders' mouth latched onto Hawke's neck again, biting and sucking a fierce mark right above the collar, the hand around Hawke's waist moving up to twist Hawke's nipple rings, and he smirked at the gasp it elicited. "That's it, make those lovely noises for me, pet," he murmured.

"I can't - " Hawke rasped, shaking his head. It was too much, rocked inside and out with ecstasy, his lover _finally inside him_ and he didn’t know how he could keep from coming. As Anders bit sharply at his neck and gave another harsh tug on a ring, he cried out, knowing he wouldn't be able to behave much longer. "I can't hold off, not with you touching me, please say I can come!"

"No," Anders hissed, stilling his hips. Hawke let out a delicious noise of desperation and bucked against him, but the priest just held him tighter, immobile against his chest. "So greedy, all this time you've been begging for my cock and now you want it over so soon? You're going to be good for me or I'm going to leave you here until you calm down."

"I'm sorry, I don't want it over, I just couldn't..." Hawke babbled, making another abortive movement within Anders' grasp, digging his fingers into the blond's thighs, shivering at the quick intake of breath it caused. "I want to be good," he whispered. "If I'm good enough, maybe you'll never stop, never leave."

Anders was stunned for a moment, his heart twisting at the words, at how vulnerable Hawke suddenly sounded, and his grip tightened possessively around his lover's waist. "I'm not leaving, pet," he said softly, running a hand over Hawke's damp hair. "I'm here, and you're mine, and you're perfect. I promise I won't leave, even if you disobey me a hundred times. You're what matters, not the game."

He kissed Hawke's neck, brushed his lips against the shell of his ear, couldn't help but moan with the eager desire that still coursed through him. "Tell me what you need, Hawke."

Hawke was crying, and he didn't quite understand why. Anders was inside him, murmuring perfect things, asking what he needed, and there was a damned tear running down his cheek. He hoped Anders didn't notice. _I need you to love me_ , he thought desperately.

"You," he finally said. "I just need you."

For one horrible second, Hawke thought he'd said the wrong thing - maybe he'd let the thought slip - when Anders pulled out, leaving him empty, and he sucked in a ragged breath. Quickly, though, he was being maneuvered, flipped onto his back, the raw scrapes stinging against the blanket, and Anders was pressing back inside, face to face this time. No chance of hiding his expression now, and Hawke groaned helplessly as he was filled again, the feeling incomparable.

It was obvious that Hawke needed this closeness, but Anders couldn't deny that he wanted it, too. Being able to watch Hawke's face as he moved inside him was incredible, and the blond gripped one of Hawke's thighs to pull him closer, bracing his other arm next to Hawke's head. He leaned down to give Hawke a passionate kiss, wanting to banish whatever emotions had caused that forlorn expression, to reinforce that Anders was _here_ , and that there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

Hawke wrapped his arms around Anders' shoulders, clinging, and let the man plunder his mouth as their hips moved together, sparks of pleasure once more skittering along his skin. He had never been one to get emotional during sex, before, but Anders had changed everything he touched, and he couldn't seem to stop _needing_ , even as he got everything he wanted.

Nearly everything, anyway. _I love you I love you I love you,_ ran through Hawke's head, dancing on his tongue, and he fantasized the sentiment disappeared down Anders' throat, letting him know without words how he felt. With a muffled moan, Hawke wrapped his free leg around Anders, too, pulling him as close as he could, until the priest was just grinding into him.

Anders' breath stuttered against Hawke's lips as he pulled away for air, enveloped everywhere by Hawke's heat, breathing in his scent. He buried his face in Hawke's neck to lick and suck at the skin around the collar, tasting his sweat and the faint hint of leather. The priest was overwhelmed, riding the high of pleasure and never wanting to stop, his discipline lost in the moment as he rocked into Hawke. 

"Oh fuck, pet, you feel so perfect," he moaned, lips trailing across Hawke's bearded jaw. "I want to watch you come, just from my cock, want you to squeeze around me tight and scream for me."

"I thought I wasn't supposed to yet," Hawke teased, breathless, but he flexed his muscles anyway, to feel Anders gasp against his neck, and then loosened his leg so the priest had space to move. "Fuck me, then, hard and fast, please - oh, Maker I've wanted this. Please. I need you."

Anders rose up, looked at Hawke with a smirk. "Well, if you want to keep waiting..." but didn't get a chance to finish, as Hawke's nails clawed into his shoulders desperately at the empty threat, and he growled, thrusting hard and deep, panting as he fucked Hawke into the mattress, the sounds of skin slapping and Hawke's cries urging him on.

Hawke pulled his legs up, out of the way as much as he could, because Anders was fucking him harsh and rough and sweet and everything he needed, every thrust jolting helplessly loud sounds from his throat. "Yes, oh, fuck, please," he moaned, words forced out of him as he arched up, the collar sliding against his throat, the faint scent of sandalwood and musk in the air, everything reminding him that he belonged to this man, at least for the moment, as long as he could manage to cling to him.

Before long, Hawke's cries had escalated into the promised screams, keening as Anders pounded into him; heat suffused his body and he held fast to the shreds of his control, dragged unwilling closer to the edge. He didn't want this to end, not ever, but it was going to, and sooner than he was ready. Hawke sobbed, tensed, writhed under his lover, barely managing to choke out, "Anders - close - !"

Anders forced his eyes to stay open as he kept the punishing rhythm, instead of simply letting himself give in to the ecstasy thrumming through his body. "Do it, come for me, pet, I want to see you," he panted.

Hawke’s body locked up with a wild cry as he clenched around Anders' cock, legs shuddering against the priest's waist, curling in on himself with the force of it as he spilled across his belly and up his chest. The slick, tight heat surrounding Anders and the look of rapture on Hawke's face was too much, and it only took a few more savage thrusts before Anders followed, gritting his teeth against a cry as his hips jerked.

Dazed, the blond stopped himself from collapsing onto his lover as he caught his breath. He knew he should get them both to clean up and shower again, but the thought was distant, and he brushed his lips over Hawke's bruised collarbone, whispering quiet praise. “So lovely, pet, so good for me.”

Still processing the wonderful concept that Anders had come inside him, condom or not, Hawke let out a pathetic sound when he felt the priest shift on top of him, a panicked feeling twisting in his gut, and he grabbed Anders' shoulders to keep him from pulling away. "Don't leave," he pleaded, tugging until Anders let himself be pulled in tight, some of his weight resting on Hawke's chest. "Stay inside me. Please." _I'm not ready to let this dream go._

"Mmm, only a bit longer, pet, otherwise there’ll be a mess," Anders replied, brushing Hawke's disheveled hair back from his forehead and kissing his damp skin. "And if you want me to stay tonight, I will. Your bed's much more comfortable than mine," he added with a smile. He was hardly put out by the idea, though most of the comfort was in Hawke's presence next to him, the reminder that he didn't always have to retire to his lonely apartment.

Hawke forcibly shoved away the selfish thought of Anders staying every night, and just smiled up at him. If that smile was a little watery, well, he had just come ridiculously hard, screaming himself hoarse. It was a little giddy, too, and he snickered suddenly. "I really hope this means I need to buy more condoms."

Anders grinned, wiggling his hips a little. "Oh yes," he said emphatically. "That's definitely your task this week."

After they cleaned themselves up a short while later, tossing the condom and taking a quick rinse in the shower, they settled into bed, Hawke wrapping Anders in his arms. He was uncharacteristically quiet, but Anders seemed just as tied up in his own thoughts, until Hawke broke the silence to ask, “Are you okay?”

The priest blinked, confused by the question, and lifted his head to catch Hawke’s expression. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well… didn’t we just completely ruin your vows?” Hawke asked uncertainly. He didn’t especially want to raise the topic, but it seemed important.

Anders sighed. He’d been trying not to think of it, but the fact that Hawke was asking meant that he cared, and that made it somewhat easier to talk about. “Technically that particular vow was ruined the moment I took an active interest in your sex life.”

“You’d been trying not to go this far, though.”

“I… that was more guilt and stubbornness than anything, on my part,” Anders said slowly, hands running idly across Hawke’s skin. “There aren’t exactly hard and fast rules for this sort of thing. I don’t regret it, if that’s what you mean.”

“Well, good.” Hawke still sounded a little bothered. “I want you to be happy, that’s all.”

“I’m happy,” Anders reassured him. “Very much so.” His wandering fingers encountered the lines he’d raked into Hawke’s skin, which he’d doctored as they cleaned up, and he frowned at the man’s hiss. “I’m sorry about these. I should have asked if it was all right with you.”

“It’s fine.” Hawke relaxed as the priest carefully traced the tender skin. “That far is fine. But no more blood than that, okay?”

Anders smiled. “Of course,” he murmured, and kissed Hawke’s chest.

After Hawke had fallen asleep, Anders laid awake and contemplated what he’d done, how far he’d fallen from his vow of celibacy. Granted, it had effectively been destroyed long before, perhaps even on the night they met at the bar, but there had always been that final step that he refused to take. Now he couldn’t even take refuge in that; it was real, and there was no turning back.

There were a million reasons for why it didn’t matter anymore, but they all ended with Hawke, how he’d come to adore this man so much, and the disparate ways Hawke and the Chantry treated his clinic. Still, Anders knew the Chantry would never forgive him this, if anyone were to find out. He could make as many excuses as he wanted, but he couldn’t justify his actions.

And as Anders reached up to run his fingers through Hawke’s hair, his lover surrounding him, breath steady against his skin, he couldn’t bring himself to care.


	24. Chapter 24

_There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love._  
_Benedictions 4:18_

 

Hawke had no patience to wait a full week to have Anders inside him again, so he gambled on Friday afternoon and jerked himself off until he was aching, then sent a picture to the priest.

> 3:35pm Hawke: [attachment] _I need your dick in me. you should stop by before the bar and fuck me senseless_
> 
> 3:38pm Anders: _Your poor cock looks so red and hard, do you want to come? I don't think you've earned it tonight._
> 
> 3:39pm Hawke: _Youre fucking kidding. maker how can i earn it_
> 
> 3:41pm Anders: _You're not nearly desperate enough. Stroke yourself for another five minutes. I want you dripping._
> 
> 3:42pm Hawke: _Shit_
> 
> 3:44pm Hawke: _Can I call you? i want your voice_
> 
> 3:45pm Anders: _No, pet, I'm in the Chantry, you'll have to go without me telling you how good you sound moaning for me._
> 
> 3:47pm Hawke: [attachment] _Im sending dick pics to the chantry? bet youre hard under the robe. fuck i wanna come father_

It took far too long to get the response from Anders, and he kept one hand on his cock, the other twisting a nipple ring to keep himself at that delicious edge while he whined in frustration. When his phone finally chimed, Hawke eagerly reached for it, then threw a hand over his mouth to smother the groan that fell from his lips. Anders had gotten off _in the Chantry_ , he couldn’t make out where, likely one of the upstairs offices, but just the very thought of it sent pleasure rocketing down his spine.

> 3:56pm Anders: [attachment] _Look what you've made me do, pet. Look how much I want you, you made me sin in the Chantry itself._
> 
> 3:57pm Anders: _If you were here, I'd make you clean me with your tongue._

Hawke re-read the words twice, the image vivid in his mind, and stared at the picture, Anders’ cum spilled over his hand, cock barely showing through the fly of his trousers. Before he could stop himself, he was coming hard, toes curling as his cock jerked. Guilt at disobeying flooded through him immediately after, and he cursed at himself, but knew he’d feel worse hiding it from Anders.

> 4:02pm Hawke: _Fuck. fucking- fuck im sorry im so sorry_
> 
> 4:03pm Anders: _What’s wrong?_
> 
> 4:05pm Hawke: [attachment]
> 
> 4:05pm Hawke: _I didnt even touch it I just thought about you_
> 
> 4:08pm Anders: _Tsk, naughty boy. I guess you won't be getting off until Wednesday, then. But as punishment, you're going to get hard for me every day, until you're aching, and send me pictures._

* * *

When Anders made it to the Hanged Man that night, he was surprised to see Merrill sitting at the counter, sipping a vibrant cocktail while she watched her girlfriend dance behind the bar. “Hello, Merrill,” he greeted her, sitting a couple seats over. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

The girl gave him an excited smile. “I got to leave early from my other job! It was slow at the craft store tonight, so I came to visit Izzy.”

“And eat all the cherries behind the bar,” Varric added from his corner.

“Oh, did I?” she asked with a frown. “Izzy said I could have a bunch in my drink.”

“I’m just teasing, Daisy. Have all you like.”

Hawke brought Anders a cider without prompting, giving him a wink as he set it down. He also threw a dozen cherries in a glass for Merrill, who beamed at him in thanks.

Throughout the night, Isabela would give Merrill a kiss or a pinch as she passed by on her way to deliver drinks, and her girlfriend would giggle and bat her eyelashes adorably. It was good to see both women happy, and equally good not to be the target of Isabela’s amusement, but Anders couldn’t help the growing loneliness and envy as he watched the two interact. That sort of carefree, public affection was lost to him, and he was unable to give his lover anything but a quick glance from across the bar.

Like everything else romantic, Anders had known he’d have to live without it once he joined the Chantry, but it was different now that he had someone he cared for. Keeping their relationship a secret wasn’t fair, especially not to Hawke, when he deserved so much more than Anders could offer. The priest sipped his cider quietly, occasionally talking with Varric about the clinic when asked, but was otherwise silent.

Hawke must have noticed something, or maybe he was still eager from what had happened that afternoon, because he kept sending searching looks in the priest’s direction. Anders excused himself early, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere with his moodiness, but he still went to his familiar spot in the alley to wait for Hawke before he left.

“What’s wrong?” Hawke asked as he approached.

Anders shook his head, not even knowing where to start. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired.” The brunet gently took his hand, and the gesture made him sigh and pull Hawke against him “I wish I could do more for you,” he said quietly.

“What, like Izzy and Merrill?” Hawke shook his head. “I don’t need all that. I mean, it’s nice, but don’t worry about it.” The smile he offered was reassuring, and he added, “I like what you do for me.”

“Even when I’m cruel to you?” Anders smirked.

“ _Especially_ when you’re cruel.” Hawke leaned in for a kiss, and Anders gripped his shoulders to keep him close. His head fell back against the brick as Hawke’s mouth trailed down his jaw to the base of his neck.

Hawke’s breath was hot, humming over the fading lovebite he’d left. “Can I mark you again, please?”

“Yes,” the priest murmured, and hissed as Hawke’s teeth sank into his skin, sucking and licking. Anders moaned a curse and finally pulled Hawke off by tugging at his hair, giving him another hard kiss before pulling back.

“Don’t forget your punishment,” he chided as he stepped out of Hawke’s embrace, and he chuckled at the man’s plaintive whine.

* * *

Anders hummed quietly to himself as he pulled his shirt off, folding it neatly and setting it on the nearby table. Despite everything, he was happy, happier than he’d been in years, and a glance at the mirror showed a small smile lingering on his lips, as he touched his fingertips to the mark on his neck that his undershirt didn’t quite cover. He reached for the cassock hanging on its hook, and heard a throat clearing off to his left.

Sebastian stood in the door of the dressing room, elegant eyebrow raised, eyes fixed on Anders’ neck. The blond turned away again hurriedly, pulling the robe on and beginning to fasten the multitude of tiny buttons as he asked, “Can I help you?”

“You’re cutting it a bit close today, Father. Mass begins in fifteen minutes. Her Reverence is already waiting.”

“I’ll be ready. Thank you, Sebastian,” Anders said stiffly.

There was obvious dismissal in his words, but Sebastian stepped closer instead, asking, “Are you all right? I thought I saw a wound, on your neck.”

Anders pulled the neckline of the cassock tighter, hands still working on the buttons, and took a deep breath to avoid glaring at his fellow priest in the mirror. Sebastian hadn’t actually said anything wrong, he just _grated_ on him. “It’s nothing. Just a bug bite. Thank you for your concern.”

“Hmm.” He didn’t sound convinced, but Sebastian left him alone, and Anders breathed a sigh of relief.

After Mass, Hawke seemed to hang back, making small talk and graciously letting most of the parishioners exit before him, so that when he finally passed through the Chantry doors, there were only a few people about.

“May I speak to you, Father?” he asked, and Anders eyed him. The words were perfectly polite, but he didn’t trust Hawke to be anything but a brat most of the time. Still, there was no way to graciously decline, so he nodded, and left Sebastian to deal with the rest of the line of people.

“What is it, Hawke?” Anders asked quietly, once they’d moved into one of the little side chapels and out of sight.

Instead of answering immediately, the man reached into the neck of his dress shirt, pulling out his black rosary, and the priest felt a surge of pride and possessiveness at seeing he was wearing it. “This,” Hawke emphasized, shaking it before he dropped it to his chest, “has been very distracting. I have had a very distracting week.”

Anders tilted his head playfully. “I’m not sure what you expect me to do about that. You never pay attention to Mass anyway, Hawke. I’m honestly not sure why you come.”

“You know damn well why I _come_ , Father,” Hawke grinned, dragging his gaze down the priest’s body. Anders pursed his lips; this was hardly the place, but before he could chastise Hawke, the man’s expression turned pleading. “I don’t think I can last until Wednesday.”

“You’ve lasted longer for me before,” Anders replied quietly.

“That was before you fucked me.” His lover took a small step closer, the words soft and heated.

The priest met Hawke’s dark eyes as he gently lifted the rosary against the man’s collar, running his fingers over the beads. “I know you can be patient. Be a good boy for me, Hawke.” He trailed his hand up to brush Hawke’s jaw, the beard coarse against his thumb.

The sharp inhale from the chapel entrance startled them both. “Maker’s mercy, what is this?!” Sebastian demanded, looking between the two men. “What are you doing?”

Hawke backed up quickly, and Anders was sure they were both red, but he forced a stoic expression. “It’s nothing, Brother. Mr. Hawke came to me for advice, calm down.”

That didn’t deter Sebastian in the slightest, and his voice raised. “I know what I saw! You’ve been acting suspicious, distracted all the time, spending far too much time at your ‘clinic’ when that’s surely just an excuse. You have fancy new cufflinks and a _bruise_ on your neck!” he accused. “Lying is a sin, _Brother_ , though I doubt that’s the only sin you’ve committed.”

Hawke glowered at Sebastian. “Don’t you dare talk to Anders that way, you - ” he started, and Anders stepped forward rapidly to stop him from approaching the other man, trying to think of something that might disarm the situation.

But it was too late. “ _What_ is going on here?” The Revered Mother’s voice rang out from behind Sebastian, and he stepped aside to let her in, her gaze taking in all three of them. “Shouting in the Chantry, thank Andraste the parishioners have already left. Explain yourselves.”

Sebastian pointed a finger at Anders. “I caught Father Anders and this _man_ together about to do something utterly inappropriate! His behavior was suspicious before, Revered Mother, surely you’ve noticed it, but now he cannot deny it. A man! It’s disgusting and goes against the Maker.”

The blond couldn’t decipher the look Leliana gave him, and the woman let out a low sigh. “Sebastian, while I am aware that there are old prejudices still in Starkhaven, there is nothing in the Chant that says such things are against the Maker.”

“You really should move on with the rest of Thedas, Brother,” Anders couldn’t help but add.

Leliana held up a hand as Sebastian started to protest, giving Anders a scolding glare. “That does not mean that any impurity would be allowed by a member of the faith, obviously, _if_ it were occurring,” she said.

“They were touching,” Sebastian said, his face flushed. “Anders had his hand on Mr. Hawke’s face.”

“His hand was on my shoulder,” Hawke countered, hands in fists at his sides. “The good Father was offering me comfort when I asked for it. Just because _you_ wanted to see into it like that doesn’t mean that’s how it really was.”

Anders restrained himself from laughing at Sebastian’s near-apoplectic expression. “That’s - ”

“Gentlemen, please.” The Revered Mother adopted a commanding tone. “Anders, have you anything to say?”

“Nothing improper was happening, Your Reverence.” Anders ignored Sebastian’s scoff. “I am devoted to the Chantry and my work. If I’m being accused of wrongdoing, I invite Father Sebastian to provide proof of his claims.”

“The proof will come out when I bring this matter to the Grand Cleric. No doubt she’ll investigate your actions. You can’t hide from the Maker’s sight.” He glared at Anders. “I expected better from you.”

The man stormed out of the chapel, his threat left hanging in the air. Anders resisted the urge to look at Hawke, focused only on the Revered Mother’s unreadable face. “Mr. Hawke, could you excuse us, please?” Leliana asked.

Hawke nodded, though he glanced back as he left the chapel, worry obvious in his eyes.

“Nothing inappropriate happened,” Anders asserted again, but Leliana shook her head.

“Your fellow priest seems to think otherwise, and if the Grand Cleric deems it worthy of investigation then I’ll have no choice but to proceed. In the meantime, I would like to keep this matter quiet so that it doesn’t affect our flock. Can you still work alongside Sebastian and maintain civility?”

“Of course.” Anders wanted to throttle him, but being "civil" was easy enough; he’d been doing it all along.

“Thank you. Now, I think we’ve all had enough of a break, and we should return our focus to Chantry affairs now, yes?” She seemed almost amused, and Anders took the hint, bowed, and left the chapel.

* * *

_Call me_ , was the only thing Anders sent to Hawke that evening, and it was obvious that the man had been waiting for the contact, because it only took seconds for him to comply.

“What happened after I left?” Hawke asked quickly.

“Nothing, Sebastian went and pouted for a while, and then everything carried on as normal, though it was certainly tense.” Anders paced around his living room, still wound up from the accusations and the subsequent anxiety. He’d spent so long fearing this exact thing would happen, and now that it was, he had no idea what to do. And yet he’d still instinctively gone to Hawke for support.

“Is he really going to run to the Grand Cleric?”

Anders snorted. “Probably, because he’s a teacher’s pet. That’s for me to worry about, not you.”

“Bullshit, this is my fault.”

“No, Hawke, it isn’t,” the priest replied adamantly. “I’m responsible for my own actions, you know.”

“Okay, it’s both of our faults then. We are kind of in this together, even if they can’t do much to me. What’s going to happen?”

“He’s an overzealous asshole, but the Grand Cleric won’t do anything on just his word. If she decides to investigate, it will probably take weeks, and they have no proof of anything. They’re already trying to take the clinic, Hawke, I won’t let them take you from me, too.” The part of him that knew that the Chantry could do just that was firmly shoved aside by the selfish part that clung to the only meaningful relationship he’d had in years.

The silence stretched, and Anders abruptly realized that what he’d said probably sounded far too possessive for what their relationship really was. He was about to apologize when Hawke asked, “Does this mean nothing changes with us?”

“I still want to see you,” Anders said immediately.

Hawke breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, good.”

“But,” Anders added, “I’m going to clear out my phone. At least for now, no more pictures or naughty texts. It belongs to the Chantry, after all, they can look at its history if they really want to...” He bit his lip; he’d never considered covering all this up, and it was starting to look like a daunting task.

“I’ll buy you a different phone,” Hawke offered.

Of course he’d offer that, and Anders bit back an unworthy comment about Hawke buying his way out of everything. Instead, the priest said, “Honestly, the phone is the least of my worries. So yes, Hawke, if you’d like to buy me a non-Chantry phone, go ahead. I’m sure a prepaid couldn’t go wrong.”

“Let me know when you’re free, we can go pick one out.”

Anders smiled at the badly-concealed worry in his lover’s tone, and relished the intake of breath he heard when he said silkily, “Your penance still stands, you know. Touch yourself every night, and don’t come until I let you.”

Despite himself, Hawke let out a resigned groan. “Bastard,” he said fondly.

* * *

The cassock Hawke had ordered had actually arrived on Monday, courtesy of express shipping, but he didn’t tell Anders, nervous of his reaction after Sunday. Still, he shivered at just the thought of seeing the priest standing over him in it, although that may have had a bit to do with how worked up he was, after a week of purposely getting himself hard every night. Even the feel of his shirt brushing over his tight, sensitive skin was occasionally enough to have him twitching in his underclothes.

When Anders arrived for their traditional weekly date on Wednesday, Hawke greeted him at the door with the bundle of fabric clutched in his hands, holding it out nervously, unsure of what to say.

Anders' eyes widened as he was presented with the new cassock, ostensibly for "personal" use. He met Hawke's desperate gaze and stifled a nervous laugh; it wasn’t as if he hadn't defiled other aspects of his priesthood before, but after Sunday's outburst from Sebastian he'd felt a vague sense of guilt every time he'd donned his robe. But it was what Hawke wanted, and Anders would do nearly anything to please him, and so he accepted the folded cloth with a smirk.

"You would think I'd know by now that you're serious when you mention things like this," he said wryly. "Yet somehow, you continue to surprise me."

Watching Anders' face twist, Hawke abruptly decided this had been a mistake; he’d purchased the cassock before the events after Mass, but he probably should have simply returned it when it came in the mail. "You don't have to. I can return it," he said, waving off the idea as he turned to cover his reddened cheeks.

Impulsively, Anders grabbed Hawke's arm, stopping him. "Look at me," he said gently, waiting until Hawke met his eyes again. "It wasn't a rejection. You know that I'll give you anything you want. There's less reason now than ever for me to deny you." The priest moved closer, until they were nearly sharing breath. "Do you want me to wear this and have you on your knees before me, confessing your sins?"

The jolt of lust had Hawke whispering, "Please," before he even thought about it. His laugh was strangled when he added, "I'm not sure how many actual sins I'll be able to think of, after the week you've given me."

"I have faith in you," Anders said with a grin. He removed his coat and walked to the hall closet to hang it up. "Be a good boy and fetch my boots," he added over his shoulder.

Anders draped the robe over the armchair and unbuttoned his shirt, folding it and setting it aside as Hawke returned. He pointed to the floor before the chair, and Hawke knelt, waiting and watching. The cassock was a bit loose as he put it on over his black undershirt, buttoning the front most of the way down and sliding the white collar of his station into place. He tied the sash, adjusted the sleeves, and sat, looking down at Hawke as he gestured to his shoes.

"I kind of hoped you'd strip everything else off," Hawke teased as he leaned forward to remove the blond's shoes. Anders raised an eyebrow silently, and Hawke flushed, subsiding.

The priest was certainly a sight when Hawke finished lacing the boots up and sat back on his heels to admire him. The arched heels added the perfect touch to his regal posture, and looking up the long length of his body, Hawke couldn't help but remember the numerous fantasies he'd had of Anders doing wicked things to him while dressed in these vestments. He swallowed, darted his tongue over his lips as his gaze dropped to Anders' lap, and hoped the man didn't plan to make him wait for much longer; he was already aching in his jeans.

Anders let Hawke squirm on his knees for a few moments, looking him over deliberately. He folded his hands in his lap and crossed a leg, getting comfortable. "Stand up and strip, slowly. I know how impatient you always are," he ordered. "Leave your rosary on."

After a deep breath, Hawke stood as requested, grabbing the hem of his shirt. He didn't really know how to strip slowly, used to simply becoming naked in the fastest manner possible, so he had to make a conscious effort, dragging the shirt up his chest until it obscured his vision, curving his back in a stretch to let Anders admire him as he so obviously wanted to do. The shirt was tossed automatically onto the couch as soon as it was free, and he winced, wondering if the priest had wanted something more calculated, but a quick look revealed no disapproval.

Hawke took similar deliberate care with his jeans, bending at the waist to let Anders have a view of his ass when he slipped them off his bare feet and kicked them aside. Then he hooked his thumbs in his boxers and bit his lip, watching his own body instead of the blond's face as he pulled the waistband down slowly, over the thatch of dark hair, until his hard cock sprang out in an obvious sign of how aroused he was.

Eyes roaming greedily, Anders watched silently as Hawke stripped, giving a hum of appreciation when the man finished and stood naked before him. "On your knees," the priest said, pointing to the ground next to his crossed legs. After Hawke sank down, he leaned forward to catch his fingers on the rosary around the brunet's neck, twisting the beads between thumb and forefinger and tugging to angle Hawke closer as he murmured, "Confess your sins to me, my son."

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Hawke started quietly, and pulled forward like this, nearly in Anders’ lap, he didn't even think to grin insouciantly. "It has been weeks since my last confession, and all I've done in the meantime is lust for you. It's built and built, and I don't even want to put it down, I'm caught up in desire and greed for you, I just want your skin on mine constantly."

As he continued, Hawke pressed his cheek to Anders’ knee, the man's fingers idly tugging at the beads of the necklace he wore as a claim. "I've thought about you slapping me again, holding me down on your cock and choking me with it, hands tied behind my back, coming down my throat and keeping me at your feet where I belong. Giving my body to you to do with as you please. Devoting myself to you." He moaned softly at the weight of the fantasies. "I think about what penance you'll assign me, whether you'll be kind or cruel, whether you'll let me suck you again, and some days I'm so distracted I can hardly think."

Anders felt the heat of lust coil through his skin, with Hawke's head resting on his knee, looking up at him as he described his filthy desires. The priest slowly wound the rosary beads between his fingers as the man spoke, until they pressed against Hawke's throat teasingly, his gaze darkening as Hawke's eyes unfocused.

"Such things you say, pet," Anders chided. "There's never a doubt that you've committed lust. Perhaps gluttony this time as well, since you can't think of anything but my cock in your mouth. Do you want me to fill your mouth until I'm the only thing you can taste? Or should I use you for warmth? Press between your lips and let it rest on your tongue so you can feel how hard you make me?"

Mind going pleasantly hazy as the rosary tightened, Hawke rubbed his cheek against Anders' trousers. "Please. Let me taste you. Use me, fill me, make me yours, Father." He'd nearly forgotten this was supposed to be a confession, if a mockery of one, caught up in fantasy and want.

The rosary twisted again, pressing the knot of beads into Hawke's skin. "Complete your confession and I'll give you your penance," Anders said firmly.

Hawke whimpered, but quietly obeyed as he raised his eyes to give Anders a pleading look. "I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past life."

"As penance for your gluttony and lust, I'm going to give you what you want. But you still aren't allowed to come until I say so." Anders tugged on the beads once more, then released them, letting them fall against Hawke's skin. "Go lay sideways across the bed, on your back."

A tiny whine escaped Hawke at the news that he wasn't going to get to come yet, but he climbed to his feet shakily, making his way naked down the hall. As he lay on the mattress and watched Anders move around the room after him, Hawke smirked, and then arched his back and opened his mouth in a lewd invitation.

Anders retrieved the bullet vibe and bondage tape from Hawke's toy chest and tossed them on the bed, out of easy view. He took notice of Hawke and scoffed, smacking his shoulder as he stood in front of him. "Brat," he said. "Close your mouth."

One strap from the head of the bed went around Hawke's wrist, the other tied with a bottom strap, stretching Hawke long across the blanket, his head close to the edge. The man shook his head when asked if it was too tight, and Anders pulled off Hawke's rosary and moved to the other side of the bed.

Hawke couldn't help the whimper of protest when Anders took the rosary, and craned his head in an attempt to see what Anders was doing. The angle was off, though, so he dropped it again with a gasp when he felt the gentle touch to his cock; it took him a moment to realize that the textured glide was the beads of the rosary, teasing far too gently along his shaft. Hawke groaned, lifting his hips into the touch until the priest laid a slap on his thigh, and he relaxed, though his breath still hitched with every movement.

The beads slid lightly against Hawke's cock until the man writhed against the blanket, but Anders never increased the pressure or his languid pace. "Be good for me, or I'll tie your legs too," he threatened, twisting until one loop stayed taut against the base. It wouldn't serve as a cockring, but it would be an unavoidable pressure, reminding him of its presence, as the end of the rosary trailed across Hawke's balls.

"You've tormented me all week, Father, have mercy," Hawke panted, pulling restlessly at the straps around his wrists to avoid writhing.

"You'll get mercy if you complete your penance to my satisfaction," Anders replied, slapping Hawke's other thigh. He unwound the cord to the bullet vibe, throwing the controller up near Hawke's arm after testing briefly to make sure it worked. A strip of bondage tape secured the small device to the underside of Hawke's cock, just beneath the head.

Satisfied with the preparation, he moved around the bed again, looming over Hawke to run a hand through his dark hair. "You're doing well, pet. But you have quite a lot of naughty things to atone for."

The buzz had warned him what Anders was doing, but Hawke still twitched when the priest attached the little toy to his cock, chest drawn tight in anticipation. This was, again, something he hadn't done, and he had no idea what to expect.

When Anders flicked the remote, Hawke sucked in a jarring breath, arching up when the vibrations sent a wave of heat through him. As quickly as it had started, it was gone, the blond watching as Hawke panted, eyes wide. "Is it all right?" he asked, and Hawke nodded shakily, though he was fairly certain that little trick was going to tip him over the edge far too quickly.

The set of keys from Hawke's dresser were placed into the palm of his hand, and Anders closed his fingers around them. "You won't be able to speak," he explained, bending slightly to unbutton the bottom of the robe. "So instead, you're going to use those to get my attention. Do you understand?"

Hawke nodded quickly, and the priest's fingers continued unfastening buttons until the cassock was undone around his waist. "If you're good for me, pet, I'll let you come when I'm finished using your mouth."

"What if I prefer being bad for you?" Hawke grinned, and Anders' hand impacted his cheek, flinging his head to the side. He groaned, reflexively clutching the keys tightly in his hand.

"You'll be good, or I'll leave you tied here and you'll get nothing," Anders hissed.

The gaze Hawke turned back to him was adoring and submissive as his cheek reddened, but when Hawke opened his mouth to speak, Anders paused. "I do want to be good, Father, but I - I'm so close already. Please, just a little mercy."

Anders delicately caressed Hawke's wounded cheek. "Perhaps I'll go easy on you then, at least in the beginning," he said. "But you'll still have to control yourself." His hands went to his belt, undoing the buckle and unfastening his trousers slowly, and Hawke's eyes fixed on his fingers hungrily. The priest reached forward to pull Hawke closer, dropping his head off the edge of the mattress, then closed the distance between them and let the head of his cock brush against Hawke's lips, which parted quickly. Anders pressed in, giving a low groan of approval as he slid into wet heat.

The position made it easy for Hawke to relax, and he closed his eyes in bliss as Anders filled his throat with hardly a pause. After a moment, he pulled out just enough to let Hawke breathe, and as the brunet's chest heaved, a jolt of sensation hit him, the vibe starting up lightly. Hawke moaned, hips twitching, and Anders chuckled darkly as he thrust back in.

The view down the length of Hawke's body was sinful, Anders watching his lover writhe under the vibrations against his cock, where it lay flushed and dripping on his stomach. He could feel Hawke's moan along his length as the speed increased, the desperate way his tongue twitched when it pulsed.

Anders stopped the remote when he eased back to let Hawke breathe. "So good for me," he purred, and pressed forward into Hawke's mouth again. "I love how well you take it." His fingers caressed the column of Hawke’s neck, shivering when he could feel his cock stretching the man’s throat through the delicate skin.

Saliva gathered at the corners of Hawke's mouth as Anders thrust in and out, and he stopped trying to move his tongue or swallow, only focusing on the smooth glide of the priest's cock and the light pressure of fingertips against his neck, taking in air when he was allowed it. The bullet teased him erratically, and he jerked and moaned under the attention, but Anders was careful, and never let it run long enough or hard enough that Hawke truly had to struggle to keep from coming. He floated on sensation for a time, mind hazed with pleasure.

Anders wrapped his fingers around Hawke's neck, tightening his grip as he thrust forward. Being able to feel Hawke take him like this was overwhelming, and he was eager to carry out his other plans for his lover; it wasn't long before he was letting out soft noises as he fucked Hawke's face, and he pulled back briefly to let the man gasp for air.

"Deep breath, pet," he rasped, and Hawke obeyed, letting out a short whine as Anders filled his mouth again.

The priest's hips jerked forward in short strokes, Hawke's lips stretched taut around his girth, and as Anders gasped, burying himself deep, the toy was flicked on high. Hawke jerked at the sudden vibration, impaled and unable to speak or breathe, and his throat convulsed on a moan that made Anders swear as he spilled hotly down the man's throat.

When the blond withdrew, panting, long seconds later, Hawke had the chance to suck in a gasp of air that ended in a desperate whimper before Anders finally turned the bullet off. His hips thrust into the air again before he could still them, and Hawke blinked his eyes dazedly open to stare up at his lover, keys clutched so tightly they were digging into his palm.

"Good boy," Anders murmured, stroking his jaw, chuckling when Hawke nearly purred at the praise. He took the keys and set them back on the dresser as he moved to the other side of the bed, then dragged the man down until his head was no longer hanging off the edge. The vibe purred on a low setting while Anders retrieved the lube from the chest, and the priest made a show of rolling up one sleeve with a smirk. "Would you like a reward for being so well behaved?"

"You're going to let me come?" Hawke's voice was rough, his throat well-used, and he swallowed after he spoke, hips rocking up minutely. It wouldn't take much, and he hoped the priest wouldn't be disappointed; he'd been holding off for a week now, tormented and teased, and was eager to finally be allowed.

Anders didn't reply, just gave a lazy smile as he climbed on the bed to kneel between Hawke’s legs, and slicked his fingers. As two pressed into Hawke's opening, he sped up the toy, just enough to make the man shudder before dropping it back down. The blond crooked his fingers and thrust hard and purposefully, changing the setting intermittently. "You have my permission. Don't hold back for me, pet," he said reassuringly.

Moaning, Hawke spread his legs, pressing back on Anders' fingers as they stretched him wonderfully. He relaxed, let the pleasure take him, and soon was pressing his head into the bed, snapping his hips to work himself on the priest's hand, crying out with every thrust. The vibration on his cock spread lovely heat through his limbs, until with a loud, gratified shout, Hawke's body tightened, the sweet pulse continuing through his orgasm.

When Hawke realized that the toy was still buzzing against his cock, not giving it a chance to go down, he stared at Anders with wide eyes, clutching at the straps as Anders kept fucking him with his fingers, adding a third to press into his entrance. "This _is_ what you wanted, isn't it?" the priest taunted. "You've been aching all week for release, so pent up and frustrated. I'm going to work it all out of you, until you can't give me anymore."

"Fuck," Hawke whispered shakily, closing his eyes as his head fell back, toes curling into the blankets. Those fingers stretched and worked him mercilessly, the bullet buzzing too much pleasure on his suddenly sensitive cock, and he trembled at just the thought of enduring this until his body could come again. "Father, you're cruel."

The priest raised an eyebrow and turned the vibration on high, letting Hawke gasp and thrash against the bed for a few seconds. "I could be _more_ cruel. I could rip it from you until your voice is hoarse from screaming. Do you want that, instead?"

Even after the toy was turned down, Hawke was speechless, panting harshly at the slide and twist of Anders' fingers inside him, stretching him, pressing diligently against his sweet spot. "Anything you want, anything," he whimpered, when he could process words again. "All for you, just don't stop touching me."

A swell of affection and pride flooded through the priest, and he resumed the steady, pulsing increase in speed of the toy as he worked his fingers in and out of Hawke. "I won't, pet. You're lovely when you get this desperate." His own arousal was building again, the sight of Hawke overstimulated and covered in his own spend irresistible, and his hand moved faster, longing to watch Hawke fall apart a second time. "Are you going to come for me?"

"Oh, fuck, yes," Hawke gasped, writhing under Anders' touch. He wanted to pull his lover closer, bury his face in the man's neck, gasp his devotion into his skin, but all he could do was take the waves of ecstasy as they built sharply, until suddenly he was at the edge, pushed too close by the rhythm of the priest's hands, trembling as he pleaded urgently, "Tell me I can, please!"

" _Yes_." Anders thrust in deep, grinding his knuckles against his sensitive rim, and Hawke howled as he let himself go, clamping down hard on his lover's fingers, jerkily adding droplets to the mess already spread across his stomach.

Mercifully, Anders turned the toy off and slowly removed his fingers as Hawke came down, whimpering as he was suddenly emptied. "So good for me, thank you, pet," the priest murmured soothingly, bending to press a kiss to Hawke's rapidly softening cock as he removed the tape and the toy. He shifted on the bed, and his lover made a plaintive sound, until he put a reassuring hand on Hawke's hip as he reached for the bedside table. "I'm not leaving, don't worry."

Breathing hard, dazed and boneless in the wake of his second orgasm, Hawke expected to be untied, cleaned, and pulled into Anders' arms, but eventually realized that the man was only petting his thigh soothingly. He pulled on the straps with an incoherent questioning noise, the coil of apprehensive heat in his gut almost painful after coming so hard.

"Just a short break. I'm not quite done with you yet," the priest said with a wicked smile. He continued the gentle touches, fingertips and nails trailing across Hawke's thighs. As much as he wanted to bend Hawke's legs back and fuck him senseless, he would give him the chance to breathe.

Hawke's words were slurred but unmistakable when he protested, "I don't think I can come for you again." Tiny sighs and whimpers escaped him as Anders stroked his achingly sensitive skin, his brain slowly coming back to him, and Hawke whined when he realized what Anders probably had in store. "Oh... you're going to kill me."

"Such a cruel fate," Anders replied wryly, nails sliding up across Hawke's hips, then back down the inside of his thighs. The priest ignored the sweat dripping down his neck, enjoying the view too much. "Are you saying you don't want me inside your ass?"

With a groan, Hawke arched into the touch, wrapping his legs around Anders' waist to pull him in closer. "I'll always want you in me," he said, but ruined the sweetness by adding, "Is this what happens when I beg for mercy? You take it as a sign to kill me with your dick?"

Anders rolled his eyes and adjusted the cassock so the fabric was draped over Hawke's legs, unwrapping the condom he’d retrieved as he sighed. "So dramatic, as if you wouldn't want to die any other way. Since you're cheeky enough to talk back, I'll assume you’ve had enough of a break," he said, gaze hungry as it trailed over the man’s messy stomach. "I want to see how filthy I can get you."

A surge of excruciating lust hit Hawke at the sight of the priest in full vestments, looking him over like a sacrifice while he lay helpless, at his mercy. "Father," he murmured, taking a ragged breath as Anders rolled the latex onto his hard cock. "Is this still penance for my gluttony?"

The blond smirked. "You don't think it's fitting, filling both your mouth and your ass while you writhe for me, still wanting more after you swallowed me down and came twice? I've thought about how many times you could come for me, how you'd look soaked in it, and Maker, I need you on my cock screaming for more," Anders growled. The tip brushed Hawke's entrance as he positioned himself and gripped Hawke's thighs to spread them further apart.

The sound that left Hawke's mouth as Anders pressed inside was raw and desperate, his sensitive hole opening easily. His fingers twisted around the restraining straps, spine arching off the bed as he tensed, and as Anders slid in to the hilt in one smooth thrust, Hawke's soft cock twitched in renewed interest, leaving him panting for breath.

Anders let out a groan and urged himself to hold still, buried in Hawke's slick heat. He gently touched the rosary that still lay wrapped around the brunet's cock, sliding the beads against Hawke's skin as he slowly stroked sensitive flesh. Hawke's ass clenched involuntarily around him, but Anders maintained restraint.

"Can you give me one more, pet?" he asked. "I want to feel you tighten around me while I touch you."

"I can't. Just use me, I want you to use me, but please, I can't come again, it's too much." Some part of Hawke wondered if he was wrong, if Anders could work one more orgasm out of him, and the image alone had him gasping, overwhelmed nerves sparking. Anders' hand moved delicately, the beads just this side of rough, and he whimpered when he felt his cock stir reluctantly.

"Oh, I _will_ use you, but not before you come for me again." Anders reached for the bullet vibe with his other hand, setting the speed low before he trailed it across Hawke's cock, and continued massaging with the beads, smiling as Hawke started hardening slowly under his touch. "Good boy," he praised, letting the vibration sit against the sensitive head until Hawke bucked against him.

"Father, please!" Hawke choked, twisting against the blankets.

Anders lifted the toy just enough to raise an eyebrow and say, "Unless you're going to stop me, pet, I don't think you've had enough."

The silence was telling, Hawke only letting out shuddering breaths under the priest's keen gaze, and when the little bullet pressed against the underside of his cock again, he sobbed, pulling Anders in close with his legs, helpless to do anything but writhe and howl as overwhelming sensation washed over him.

Anders breathed deeply as Hawke squirmed, thighs shaking and ass clenching around the priest's cock as he let him tease and torture his oversensitive dick. "That's it, you're so good, so lovely all fucked out like this," Anders purred, dragging the rosary beads along Hawke's skin, keeping up a low stream of praise and filth. "I can tell you want it, your ass is squeezing me so tightly I don't even have to move. Maker, you're nearly fucking yourself on me."

Pleas formed in Hawke's mind, for more or mercy he couldn't tell, but he was beyond words, sweat and tears dripping into his hair as he rolled his hips and gripped the straps, shocks of ecstasy forcing him closer to another orgasm, oh, Maker, it was going to happen and he both dreaded it and wanted it more than anything. He tried to give a warning or ask for approval, but every sound came out as only a cracked shout.

When it finally hit, crashing over him in unavoidable waves, too soon and agonizing ages later, Hawke screamed, back arching violently as he convulsed around Anders, cock dribbling only a few weak drops of fluid over the priest's hand. There was no space for thought any more, only sensation as the man sobbed, thigh muscles gripping Anders so tightly they ached.

Anders groaned approvingly at his lover, murmuring affection as Hawke shuddered and writhed on his cock. He feared for a moment that he'd gone too far when his hands moved to Hawke's thighs, eager to take what he wanted, and the man hoarsely begged for him to wait. But Hawke only jerked at the straps binding his arms. "Touch you, please," he pleaded shakily, and Anders reached over quickly to release his wrists.

Hawke's hands dug into Anders' arms as the priest finally thrust into him, hard and deep, drinking in the sight of his lover so ruined and wrecked with pleasure at his hands. Fingers clenched bruises into Hawke's skin and he moaned, pulling Hawke closer as he rocked into him, lost in desire.

Reaching up with trembling fingers, Hawke urged Anders closer until he could wrap his arms around his neck, whimpering as they pressed together, the priest using his exhausted, overstimulated body for his own pleasure. It was wonderful, gorgeous, even as Anders started to thrust erratically, and Hawke shook and cried and panted into Anders' collarbone, murmuring half-heard devotions into his robe.

"Perfect, so perfect," Anders moaned, lost in the feel of Hawke surrounding him and clinging to him desperately, words falling from his lips without consciously realizing it. "Always so good for me, never want to stop, oh fuck, love, _yes_!" Anders came with a breathless shout, arching his back as he trembled against Hawke.

The priest’s senses slowly returned, and he scattered light kisses across Hawke's forehead as he pulled out gently, but no matter how slowly he moved, the brunet still moaned raggedly, feeling open, empty, exposed. Anders stroked his cheek, assuring him he'd be right back, and left to fetch a damp washcloth.

Hawke was still catching his breath when the priest returned, and he watched his lover dazedly while Anders carefully wiped off the sweat, cum, and lube. The blond didn't seem to realize what he had said, and Hawke decided quickly he wasn't going to bring it up; it was probably a mistake, just something said in the heat of passion, and he could so easily imagine the man flushing, stuttering, and telling him not to read too much into it. Instead, he caught Anders' face before he could pull away, murmuring sincerely, " _Thank you_."

Anders smiled at Hawke's earnestness and kissed him gently. "You're welcome. Not too much, then?" he asked, and Hawke shook his head. "Good. I'll rub your arms in a moment, once I get out of this thing. The robes aren't made for physical exertion." The priest unbuttoned the stained cassock quickly, tossing it onto the floor and stripping off his sweat-soaked undershirt. The boots and the rest of his clothing soon followed, and he lay on the bed against the cool sheets and sighed appreciatively, not minding at all when Hawke immediately threw an arm and a leg over him.

“‘m dead, you’ve killed me,” Hawke groaned, and Anders chuckled. “Really, thank you. For everything. I’m sorry for all that shit on Sunday, and I’m here if you need anything.” He didn’t want to ruin the mood, but he was exhausted and wanted to make sure Anders knew, especially after he’d called Hawke “love.”

The priest’s fingers tangled in his hair, lips brushing against his forehead. “I appreciate it. Let me worry about Sebastian and all of that, though.” Hawke mumbled something against Anders’ chest that sounded like “punch him inna face” and the blond smirked, adopting a playfully scolding tone. “Violence isn’t the answer, Hawke.”

“Should be,” Hawke muttered.

“Did I tell you he wears a belt buckle with Andraste’s face on it?”

Hawke let out a scoff that turned into a laugh. “Maker, he needs to get laid.”


	25. Chapter 25

  
_I am laid low in the dust; preserve my life according to your word._  
_I recounted my ways and you answered me; teach me your decrees._  
_Let me understand the teaching of your precepts; then I will meditate on your wonders._  
_Trials 119:25_  


  


First Day fell on a Friday, and Anders fully expected the Hanged Man to be packed and rowdy with revelers. The Chantry’s service was usually short and sweet, letting the masses out early to gather together and remember the past year while celebrating the new one.

Anders navigated through the crowd to the bar counter, and Varric got up from his usual spot to offer it to the priest. “I gotta help these idiots out, don’t worry about it,” the man said, gesturing to Fenris and Hawke, both men in a flurry of movement just trying to keep up with the orders. Anders took the offered spot, momentarily content to simply watch the activity. Isabela flitted by and kissed him on the cheek, which sparked a few whistles down at the other end of the bar.

“Hey Father, did I miss something?” one woman called out, “Is it good luck to kiss a priest for First Day?”

Hawke’s attention jerked to Anders, who simply smiled and rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately not, and I don’t recommend trying it out. Isabela enjoys testing the Maker’s gaze.”

“Man, I don’t know how He could _not_ look at that,” the woman’s companion replied, and she gave them a playful shove. The conversation between the two turned lewd; Anders wagged his finger at them scoldingly, and they bought him a drink in apology.

“Can I test the Maker’s gaze later?” Hawke asked in a hushed tone, leaning in close as he delivered Anders’ cider.

“What do you think we’ve been doing all this time?” the priest replied with a smirk.

Anders didn’t linger for long in the alley before he left, since so many people were out and about that night, and he and Hawke only dared a quick, heated kiss before he slipped away.

* * *

It had been a full week since Sebastian had sworn to inform the Grand Cleric of his suspicions, a week full of unspoken tension and distrustful glances at the Chantry, so it wasn’t completely unexpected when the Revered Mother pulled Anders aside after Mass. He bowed respectfully, and then squared his jaw, trying to prepare himself for whatever news she may have.

She didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Grand Cleric Elthina has ordered an investigation into the allegations of your actions, my son. You are to be suspended for the duration.” Anders stiffened, opening his mouth to protest, but she laid a hand on his arm to forestall it. “You will receive full pay, of course, and you may attend any ceremonies you like in the meantime.”

It was an outcome he’d considered, but faced with the reality, Anders found himself grasping for words. “I don’t… so… you believe that there’s truth to this?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe, only what the Grand Cleric has told me to do,” Leliana said soothingly. “I suggest you take this as a vacation. Take some time to relax, look into yourself, and think about what your goals are for the future.”

“Yes, Your Reverence,” Anders said automatically, heart racing. “Shall I leave my vestments here?”

“Do as you would normally. This will be resolved soon, and the Maker will reveal His plan for us, yes?” The Revered Mother leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, and then patted his arm before stepping back. “Don’t be so nervous, my son. Trust in the Maker.”

“For He is good.” The priest took a shaky breath as he watched her leave, surprised at her kindness while reeling from the news of his suspension.

When Anders had fetched his bag and coat and made his way outside the Chantry, Hawke was lingering on a bench nearby, playing idly with his phone. Anders nodded at the man, but didn’t pause, heading to his car before he pulled out the new prepaid cell Hawke had bought him.

_Follow me home?_ was all Anders sent, and Hawke agreed readily.

This would be the first time Hawke had seen his tiny apartment, and Anders had to admit he was a bit embarrassed. It wasn’t messy, but it had only two rooms aside from the bathroom, and all the furniture and decorations were old and had come with the place. They parked on the street near the apartment buildings, and Anders glanced ruefully at Hawke as he pulled his keys out, leading the way to the front door. “It’s not much,” he muttered.

Hawke glanced around the apartment while Anders shut the door behind them and hung up his coat, and he shrugged. “It’s fine. What happened? Or did you just want a distraction?”

Anders snorted at Hawke’s waggled eyebrows, but said, “I don’t think I could right now.” He dropped to his ratty couch without even removing his shoes, and Hawke sat carefully next to him, brow furrowed. After a moment, the priest looked up again, meeting Hawke’s eyes. “I’ve been suspended.”

“ _What_?” Hawke yelped. “For what? They have no proof of anything!”

“That’s why, Hawke,” Anders said, trying to be reassuring. “It’s for propriety’s sake while the Revered Mother investigates, under Elthina’s instructions. It’s not permanent, just until… well, until she figures out what’s really going on, and then I’ll be reinstated.”

“I hope she doesn’t figure it out,” Hawke said fervently. “How would she? Everyone knows not to talk.”

With a sardonic look, Anders said, “I know well how few would deny telling the truth to a priest, much less the Revered Mother.”

“I’ll have you know my sister is excellent at telling the truth while not saying a damn thing.”

Anders couldn’t help but chuckle at that, but it quickly turned into a grimace. “This is ending, isn’t it, Hawke?” It hit him all at once, a heavy weight in his gut, that years of his life serving the Maker could be over just like that, for making decisions he wasn’t altogether sure were the wrong ones.

“Do you want it to?” Hawke asked after a pause, expression serious.

“I don’t know.” Anders lifted his hands helplessly, dropped them back into his lap. “I don’t know what I want any more.”

Anders didn’t resist when Hawke pulled him into a wordless embrace, and his lover only held him closer when he began to shake.

* * *

Bethany invited herself over Monday afternoon, bringing french vanilla ice cream to mix with Hawke’s ever-present supply of sprinkles and chocolate; their father had always made them ice cream sundaes to cheer them up, and the tradition continued after his death. She chattered about her schoolwork and classmates, mindless gossip that neither of them truly cared about, while they put together their sundaes and carried them to the couch.

Shortly after, they had a rerun playing, and Bethany pursed her lips as she looked down at where she stirred her ice cream with a spoon. “So… I went to the Chantry this morning.”

“That’s unusual,” Hawke snorted, but he was immediately tense.

“The Revered Mother politely requested that I come. And you know, I’m usually really good at reading people, but not that woman! I couldn’t get a fucking bead on her at all.”

“My little sister, bested at last,” Hawke said weakly.

She scoffed. “Hardly! And from your expression, I’m pretty sure you already know the kind of moldy nugshit she wanted to talk about.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t use that mouth to talk to her.” Hawke bit his knuckle briefly. “Anders. The investigation. He was suspended yesterday for it.”

“Exactly.” Bethany gave him a sympathetic look over her bowl. “You really got yourself balls-deep in it this time, didn’t you? Well, I didn’t give her a fucking thing. ‘To my knowledge, nothing improper is going on, and my brother is a good man who may be an idiot, but he isn’t quite that stupid,’” she recited, snapping him a grin at the end.

“Thanks.” Hawke rolled his eyes. “Law school is good for you.”

Bethany sniffed delicately. “Pre-law, and it has only refined the amazing skills that I already possessed.”

They paused to watch the show and eat their sundaes, while Hawke processed the idea that the Chantry might not actually get anything out of its investigation. When a commercial came on, he asked quietly, “What if he gets kicked out because of me?”

Bethany sighed, and pointed her spoon at him. “Then he’ll get kicked out because he _chose_ you, dumbass. You certainly didn’t make him take his most holy dick out.”

“Well actually, it started out the other way around - “ Hawke began with a grin, and was promptly hit in the face with a throw pillow.

“Don’t even!” his sister threatened.

After she’d left for the night, Hawke flung himself onto his bed with a huff, and dialed Anders’ new number. The calm, familiar voice from the other end of the line made him smile. “Have you heard the Chant of the Maker and Andraste, ser?” Hawke teased.

The roll of Anders’ eyes was nearly audible. “Yes, I believe I’ve heard something like that before.”

“I’m in bed, thinking about you,” Hawke said. “What are you wearing?”

The priest hesitated, and then said, “I’m sorry, I’m not especially in the mood, Hawke.”

With a sigh, Hawke rolled onto his back. “Actually, neither am I. Bethy came over to tell me all the gritty details of her interview with Her Reverence. And share ice cream sundaes, of course.”

“Leliana came to the clinic, too,” Anders said tightly. “Looked over the premises, and took a few minutes in my office with each of my volunteers, which is probably why she spoke to Bethany. Lirene’s naturally close-mouthed, and I doubt she said anything much. I could hear Merrill gushing from down the hall, though - all about how good you’ve been for the clinic, and how I keep the place running, and probably nothing at all of what the Revered Mother was looking for. So that’s good news, I suppose.”

“Then why don’t you sound happy about it?” Hawke asked.

“This is _real_ , Hawke,” Anders snapped. “I’ve been suspended, my friends are being asked to submit damning evidence, they may _remove me from the Chantry_ , and all because I - “ Anders cut himself off with an oath, and Hawke wished the priest was there in his arms, so he could at least be of some use. “I’m sorry, I can’t right now. I’ll talk to you later, Hawke.”

The call was abruptly ended, and Hawke stared at the phone for a moment before whispering, “I love you.”

* * *

While the suspension allowed Anders to be at the clinic as often as he wanted, he didn’t want the residents thinking anything had changed, and so didn’t spend much more of his time there than usual. That left him with hours spent alone in his apartment, trying to keep himself distracted, but by Tuesday evening he was at the end of his rope. He was bored, lonely, and troubled with guilt, and he tossed the book he’d been trying to read aside and debated what to do. 

Hawke would be working at the bar. He couldn’t go there; it would disrupt his usual pattern, and might invite uncomfortable questions from Varric or Isabela. There wouldn’t be a chance to talk and apologize for being short with him the night before, anyway, and Hawke would be too busy to do more than text occasionally. He could go out to a coffee shop or some other place for entertainment, but he might risk encountering a parishioner, and he wasn’t quite in the mood to deal with the general public as it was.

But Anders did have Hawke’s key, and though he’d refrained from using it so far, this seemed like the perfect excuse. Would Hawke object to him showing up while he wasn’t there? He’d implied that he’d wanted Anders to surprise him, and there seemed no better time to take him up on the offer. The priest fought with himself for a few minutes before sighing in resignation, and went into the bathroom to gather some personal things.

Despite his lover not being present, Anders felt slightly better just stepping inside his home. Seeing Hawke’s townhouse in its normal state wasn’t so different from when Anders came over on Wednesdays. Hawke seemed to keep everything relatively tidy. The priest toed off his shoes and left them near the door, hanging up his coat like usual. It was quiet, and he was initially apprehensive about being here, but it was _Hawke’s_ , and the familiarity helped him relax. It was odd how the place seemed so much more like home than his own dismal apartment.

Finding the cider in the fridge was his first surprise. It was the same brand he drank at the Hanged Man, and he knew that Hawke preferred beer. The thought of the man buying it specifically for him made Anders smile, and he opened one as he moved to the sofa to watch television. It was easy to pretend that this sort of thing was normal, that the blond was relaxing at the end of a long day, just waiting for his boyfriend to come home, and his thoughts sparked a painfully bittersweet longing for such a thing to be reality. 

Anders _could_ have it, theoretically; all he would have to do was give up his calling. And if his priesthood were the only thing he would lose in the process, the choice might not have been quite so daunting. The thought of failing the Maker and Andraste was terrible, but apparently that hadn’t been enough to keep him obedient. It was St. Surana’s that mattered the most, and the clinic was tied to his position. If he lost that, then he’d lose everything he’d been working for, and all the good that he’d been able to do. Not to mention that he’d have to count on Hawke for financial support. Even if the man had joked about Anders moving in before, actually having it happen was something else entirely; Anders didn’t even know if Hawke would be willing to go that far, and there was no way he’d ever ask him to.

It was obvious with Leliana’s investigation that he could no longer have both Hawke and his position, and having to make the choice between the two was beyond difficult, and more painful than he’d imagined. The Revered Mother had told him to think about his future; he didn’t know if he could accept one without Hawke in it. But he also didn’t know if Hawke felt the same, or if the man only considered this a pleasant diversion, though Anders thought that it must surely mean a bit more than that, with all of the gifts and the affection they’d shared.

For all the priest’s stubbornness and fear of analyzing his feelings for Hawke, he was coming very close to admitting the truth of them to himself, and he tried to focus on his cider and the mindless program on the television instead of his thoughts.

Anders and Hawke had such different schedules that he didn’t entertain the idea of staying up for his lover. He made his way to the bedroom after a few hours, but stopped short in the doorway when he noticed his boots sitting neatly at the foot of Hawke’s bed. The pair of pajama pants he’d been borrowing on the nights he stayed over were folded on Hawke’s dresser. Anders wondered if this was how Hawke normally kept things, with the boots out to serve as a reminder of their activities, and the clothing for the priest if he happened to come over. He discovered a new toothbrush on the bathroom counter as well, and was a bit embarrassed at how much the gestures moved him. 

The blond slipped into bed and turned towards the wall in his normal position, but it didn’t feel right, and he eventually rolled over. He stared at Hawke’s pillow for a long moment, then gave in and clutched it to his chest, breathing in his lover’s scent and mentally scolding himself for pining ridiculously like a teenager, despite the hopeful, loving affection that bloomed in his chest. Anders finally felt himself relax, and drifted off quickly with the pillow in his arms.

* * *

Hawke came home shortly after three in the morning. Closing duties were usually finished before last call during the week, and though work had been a distraction from worrying about Anders’ investigation, now he was exhausted and tense, just wanting to zone out and not think for a while. As he approached his door, he couldn’t help the unconscious spark of excitement that always hit when he came home, wondering if perhaps _this_ would be the night that Anders had finally taken him up on the offer to use his key. He kept everything laid out, just in case, even though he knew it was probably silly to keep hoping for it. 

He sighed and unlocked his door, shutting it behind him, then froze as he noticed a pair of shoes next to his hall closet. They weren’t the black dress shoes that he was used to seeing, but they certainly weren’t his own, and he wondered how he’d missed the car that must be parked nearby. Hawke quietly set down his keys and threw his coat across a chair as he crept to his bedroom, nervous excitement welling in his chest.

Anders was curled up asleep in the center of the bed, wrapped around Hawke’s pillow, his blond hair fanned out around his head.

Hawke put a hand over his mouth to stop the delighted noise that threatened to come out, and quickly stripped off his clothing, throwing it into its customary pile. Anders woke groggily as he slid into bed, slitting his eyes open as he asked, “What time is it?”

“Shh, it’s like three, don’t wake up,” Hawke replied. 

Anders groaned and released Hawke’s pillow so he could replace it with the man’s body once he had settled in, and sighed into the brunet’s shoulder. “Sorry, should have told you I was here. Should have stayed home, actually. Taken my penance for disobedience seriously. Sorry about the phone yesterday.” Even slurred with sleep, Anders’ words sounded choked, and Hawke quickly wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him closer and stopping him with a kiss.

“Don’t be sorry, I’m just happy you’re here.” Hawke kissed him again. “Go back to sleep.”

Anders murmured something unintelligible, Hawke stroking his back until his breathing deepened. He watched the blond’s face relax, calm and peaceful in sleep, still giddy at the fact that Anders was actually _here_.

For a while, Hawke just carded his hands delicately through Anders’ golden hair, reveling in his body heat, and let himself imagine what it would be like to have this every night. To come home to the man he could admit, at least to himself, that he loved dearly, slip into bed with him, and spend the night wrapped in each other’s arms. He imagined them doing silly, domestic fluff together, like eating pancakes piled with whipped cream, picking out curtains, buying a stupidly expensive piece of modern art together because he _could_ now, because he was free to spend money how he chose instead of barely scraping enough together to house four people in a one-bedroom apartment.

It was only fantasy, though. When the investigation was over and the priest was reinstated, it would be too risky to continue, and Anders would let him down gently, and Hawke would just… not ever go back to the Chantry. He’d have his simple trysts with a rotating queue of men, and try to forget he ever had these few perfect months.

Burying his face in Anders’ hair, Hawke tried to just let himself have the moment, and not worry about the inevitable heartbreak that awaited him.

* * *

It was later than normal when Anders awoke, and for a moment he was disoriented and feared he was late to arrive at the clinic. But then he remembered it was Wednesday, and aside from the small pang of guilt that accompanied the thought that he wasn’t needed for Mass, he felt rested. They had shifted positions in the night, and Anders was curled up against Hawke, his head resting in the crook of his arm. 

The blond let his hand roam across his lover’s chest, fingers stroking through hair and gently tracing patterns into Hawke’s skin. It wasn’t long before Hawke shifted awake, his hand capturing Anders’ and bringing it to his lips. 

“Sorry if I woke you,” Anders said softly, lacing their fingers together against Hawke’s chest.

“‘S fine, don’t apologize for touching me,” the brunet sleepily replied. He stretched, muscles tensing beautifully, and Anders pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “You can wake me up anytime for anything.”

“Anything _naughty_ ,” the priest said wryly, and Hawke’s chuckle resonated against his ear.

“Nah, anything. I sleep all the time. Don’t have you here all the time.” Hawke’s other hand threaded through Anders’ hair, smiling at the priest’s pleased hum. “Though you can stay today, can’t you? We can spend the day together. I’ll make you breakfast.”

Anders frowned slightly, his worries resurfacing, and he sighed against Hawke’s skin. “I suppose that’s _one_ upside to this.” 

Hawke shifted so he could look down and meet Anders’ eyes. “Sorry. You don’t have to. I’m just… you know. Trying to help, and bad at it. As usual.”

“You’re helping,” Anders said. “There’s just an irony in being suspended for supposed improper behavior, and spending my free time with the person I’m being improper with.”

“You want me to run out and check the bushes out front, make sure no one’s sneaking around?” Hawke asked, grinning.

Anders scoffed. “As self-righteous as Sebastian is, even I don’t think he’d go that far to prove himself right. It would get in the way of his prayer.” 

“See, this is why I need a dog. Keep the house safe from prowling assholes.” The priest still wore a troubled expression, and Hawke let go of his hand and tilted his chin up to give him a kiss. 

One kiss turned into several, and Hawke kept them tender and languid, pressing his lips to the priest’s cheek, chin, and nose before returning to his mouth, feeling Anders’ smile against his lips. His hands circled Anders’ waist as he turned on his side, their legs tangled together, fingers caressing the blond’s back as they kissed. Anders’ hands smoothed across his shoulders, and Hawke let out a soft moan as fingers tangled in his hair, keeping him in place.

Hawke’s fingers slid along the waistband of Anders’ pajama pants, and the blond pushed Hawke onto his back, straddling his waist and playfully smirking at his lover’s eager expression. He rained light kisses across Hawke’s jaw and neck, teeth nipping gently at his collarbone as nails teased across the priest’s lower back. He gave Hawke a slow, thorough kiss, inhaling sharply as Hawke rocked his hips up. Anders broke away, brushing Hawke’s hair from his forehead and gazing down at him affectionately.

“All right?” Hawke asked, his voice dreamy.

Anders nodded, kissing Hawke once more before his mouth trailed unhurriedly across Hawke’s chest, brushing his lips softly across his stomach, laving his tongue across Hawke’s hip. By the time his mouth neared Hawke’s cock, his lover was panting, and the light kiss Anders placed against the head had his hips jerking up.

Hawke didn’t want to protest, Maker knew, but he was the one who should be taking care of Anders right now. “You don’t have to…” he started, but the priest stopped him with a look.

“I want to,” he said. “I don’t want any games, not right now. I just want to be close to you, to be able to do this for you.” He couldn’t quite articulate how much he needed this, to try to stop his turbulent thoughts and push aside the guilt, to just do something simple and sweet for his lover. “Just let me, pet.”

“Fuck, yes, anything you want,” Hawke replied. He spread his legs further as Anders settled between them, adjusting the pillow behind his head so he could watch.

Anders smiled sultrily up at Hawke, running his nails across Hawke’s thighs as he nuzzled his lover’s arousal. His fingers wrapped around the base, and he trailed his tongue wetly up the underside, kissing across feverish skin. The priest kept his mouth working lazily across Hawke’s shaft, worshipping every inch of his cock, cupping and squeezing Hawke’s balls gently while his lover shuddered under the attention. He stroked Hawke slowly, humming a pleased noise at how hard and flushed the man was already.

Hawke opened his mouth to beg for more, back rigid from holding his hips still, but the blond gave him another coy look as if he could read his thoughts, and finally took his cock into his mouth, lips sliding tightly down his shaft. Hawke’s thighs tensed, a low moan escaping him as Anders’ head bobbed leisurely, thumb trailing up and down the thick vein, slick and wet from the priest’s mouth.

A lock of hair fell in front of Anders’ face, and a toss of his head didn’t free it, so he reached up to grasp one of Hawke’s hands and tangled it in his own hair before going back to the smooth movement of his mouth and hands on the man’s cock. Hawke’s fingers clenched in his loose hair, not directing, just anchoring himself as he moaned and his hips twitched.

Anders wrapped his arms around Hawke’s thighs and just relaxed, mouth moving languorously along his shaft, dipping the tip of his tongue into the sensitive slit. He could give his lover this, something quiet and lovely and affectionate, and not worry about choices or tomorrow, or what the future might bring.

Muscles flexed under his hands, fingers clutched at his hair, and Anders sucked harder, encouraging the noises falling from Hawke’s lips, the familiar gasps and whimpers that meant his lover was close. Salt flooded his mouth, the tang of precum, and Hawke’s hips jerked involuntarily with a bitten-off curse.

“Can I, can I please,” Hawke moaned, and Anders chuckled around him, that his sweet, devoted lover would still be asking, even for this, as his cock swelled in the priest’s mouth. He nodded, mouth not pausing, and Hawke’s back arched with a cry when he let himself go.

Anders swallowed, moaning lowly as he worked Hawke until he was spent. He kissed Hawke’s hip gently while his lover panted, resting his head against Hawke’s stomach and lazily stroking his fingers down the trail of hair across his skin. His own arousal was forgotten; he could go without. The hand in his hair tugged lightly, coaxing Anders’ attention up to where Hawke lay grinning down at him.

“You’re wonderful,” the brunet said. “Thank you.”

Anders brushed his lips against sweat-slick skin and sat up, letting Hawke pull him down for a kiss. His chest tightened as his worries resurfaced, but with them came the uncertain truth that he simply had to tell Hawke how he felt, how much he cared, and damn the consequences. Anders couldn’t continue without knowing, he couldn’t make the decisions he needed to with the Chantry until he knew where Hawke’s feelings lay.

The blond pulled back, tucking away the memory of Hawke’s sated expression before he inevitably ruined the moment. “I have to tell you something,” he murmured. “I don’t know how you’ll take it, but you should know, before… anything else happens.”

Hawke’s face turned serious, but he tried to keep his tone light. “What is it?”

It took a moment for the words to come, Anders finally meeting Hawke’s eyes. “I care for you a great deal, Hawke. These past few months… they’ve meant more to me than you can know. I love you, and I don’t want to give you up, to lose this, no matter what the Chantry does.”

Hawke stared at him, expression unreadable, and then of all things, he _laughed_ , a choked, nervous sound. Anders flinched, jerking away, certain that was the beginning of a rejection, but then Hawke’s hands were on his shoulders and he was saying, “No, no, wait, I didn’t - really? You mean it?”

Anders frowned, hesitant. “Of course I _mean_ it. Why would I tease about something like that?”

“I don’t know, I just… oh, Anders.” Hawke laughed again, and pressed a kiss impulsively to his forehead. “I’ve been trying very, very hard not to say that to you.”

“What?” Anders stared at him in bewilderment. “... _why_?”

“Because,” Hawke said, fidgeting, “I didn’t want to pressure you? And you’re a priest, and this whole thing is kind of… blasphemous and awful and… I don’t really know what I’m doing, you know, loving someone. I’ve never felt like this before.”

Anders laughed. He couldn’t help it; the situation was ludicrous. “We are a pair, aren’t we?” 

“I love you,” Hawke said quietly. “I’ve been avoiding saying that for weeks. I don’t want to lose you, either.”

With a relieved smile, Anders reached out and pushed Hawke back, practically climbing into his lap before pressing his lips to his cheekbone. At every pause, he kissed a new place on his lover’s bearded face, saying, "You ridiculous... horrible... beautiful man. What would I do, without you?"

“Keep your job?” Hawke suggested ruefully.

Anders rolled his eyes and swatted Hawke’s arm playfully. “You never stop, do you? Brat. _My_ brat,” he corrected, gaze softening.

“Your brat, always,” the brunet agreed, and pulled Anders close.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have figured out that we have three chapters to go, after this one. Chapter 29 will be the last. Thank you all for coming with us! I'm so sad it's almost over!

_Have mercy on me, O Maker, according to your unfailing love;_  
_according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions._  
_Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin._  
_Trials 51:1-2_

 

They stayed in bed for most of the morning, until Hawke’s growling stomach forced them up. Hawke kept his promise and made breakfast - a hash of potatoes, meat, and eggs - and the two of them sat on the couch and watched television afterward, Hawke curled under Anders’ arm with the priest’s fingers laced through his hair.

Anders left Hawke to clean up while he took a shower. It was a luxury to be able to spend all of this time with him, and Anders had initially been hesitant at having so much freedom to do what he wanted. But the day was turning out far better than he'd hoped; Hawke had returned his feelings and urged him to stay, and the priest smiled as he stood under the water, immeasurably thankful that he had someone who cared for him so much.

His thoughts inevitably turned filthy, as they always did with Hawke around, remembering the blissful expression on Hawke's face as he'd sucked his cock, the feel of his lover coming in his mouth. The blond bit his lip, the hands running across his skin turning indulgent as ideas sprang to mind, fantasies he'd longed to try with Hawke, all the ways he wanted to make the man scream, and it wasn't long before he was hard.

Anders finished washing eagerly, holding back the moan that threatened to spill as his soapy fingers slid over and then into his sensitive hole. He'd have Hawke like he wanted, bound and begging while he rode the man’s cock, and the thought shivered arousal through him. He finished cleaning himself quickly and stepped out of the shower, running a towel perfunctorily over his skin, forgoing his boots and leaving himself naked as he retrieved the belt from his trousers.

Plates clattered in the sink as Hawke dried them by hand, taking a bit of comfort in the familiar activity rather than using the dishwasher. He didn't hear Anders come up behind him, and startled at the sudden touch to his back, something sliding across his bare shoulders. "Dry your hands, pet," Anders murmured silkily into his ear.

That tone promised the start of a game, dark pleasures at his lover's hands that Hawke was always hungry for, and he hurried to obey. As soon as he dropped the dishrag, the leather belt that had been trailing over his skin was looped around his neck, and Hawke gasped at the surge of lust when it tightened, reaching up to grasp it when he was pulled off balance to lean back against Anders' naked body.

Anders kept the pressure against Hawke's neck firm, but not choking, not yet, as he hissed into his ear and rocked against Hawke's bare hips, pressing his cock against the brunet's cheeks. "I'm going to lead you into the bedroom, and I want you on your back, hands over your head and legs spread, do you understand? Are you going to be a good boy for me?"

"When am I not good for you?" Hawke asked. His next breath was rasping as the loop closed further, and he near melted in submission, letting the priest guide them both down the hallway until the belt was freed suddenly and he was shoved face-first onto the bed. The position Anders had asked him for was easy enough to attain, and Hawke stretched lazily as he gripped the bars of the headboard and met Anders' eyes, flashing him a grin. "Gonna tie me up again, Father?"

Anders halted, midway to wrapping the belt around Hawke's wrists, and the man winced at his poorly-chosen words when he saw Anders' face. "I'm sorry, I..."

"It's fine," the blond said dismissively. "Just Anders, this time." He banished the anxieties that threatened to ruin the moment, and looped the belt across Hawke's wrists, wrapping the end around the slats in the bed and tucking it into the loop. When it was tightened to his liking, he bent, gripping Hawke's jaw roughly and giving him hard kiss. "Or you can call me 'sir,'" he said, smirking.

"I might, if you make it worth my while." Hawke didn't even have time to wiggle his eyebrows before Anders lashed out, backhanding him across the face and making him groan. "Fuck," he whimpered.

The priest gathered what he wanted from Hawke's chest and set them on the bed, straddling Hawke's waist. "You tell me, is it 'worth your while' to watch me ride your cock, to use you until I'm satisfied?" Anders pulled one of Hawke's piercings, twisting the ring between his fingers. "If you're good, I'll even plug you up first so you can be filled at the same time."

Hawke's eyes widened while he arched up into the touch. That had been one of Anders' whispered fantasies, weeks ago, hadn't it? The image was mouth-watering, and Hawke rocked his hips up as the blond continued to roll and tug at the metal, begging, "Please, sir, yes, that sounds perfect."

"Good boy," Anders purred, giving the ring a hard yank and sliding off the bed. He returned with the plug, smacking Hawke's thigh as he positioned himself between his lover's legs. "Knees up for me, pet."

Hawke obeyed, and Anders lubed the plug, pressing it against Hawke's hole and slowly pushing it in while the brunet whined, cock twitching against his stomach. "You can take it like this, can't you? You love it when it's rough."

"Yes, yes, ah, shit!" Hawke groaned at the burn as the toy slid home, full and aching and painfully aware that this was just the beginning of what Anders would do to him. His legs fell back to the bed when Anders' hand wrapped around his cock, giving his hard length a few idle strokes before the priest snapped the cock ring on, then patted it as if it were behaving for him.

"I'm going to enjoy stretching myself for your cock, pet," Anders said as he climbed back up to straddle Hawke's waist again. Stroking the back of his knuckles along the man's cheek, he slid back until Hawke's cock nudged his ass, and smiled. "I'll stretch myself wide on my fingers, and then use your body as I please, and you won't object at all, will you? You love this."

Stomach muscles flexed as Hawke tried not to writhe at the words. "I love it," he agreed, "I love you. Please let me watch?"

Anders cocked an eyebrow, heat coursing through him at the thought. "You want to watch me finger myself? Naughty boy. You can, after I sit on your face and feel your tongue work me open. Do you want that?" He ran his fingers over Hawke's abdomen, nails digging in lightly as Hawke twitched.

"Fuck yes," Hawke breathed eagerly.

Anders smirked in approval, and then shifted over him carefully, until he faced Hawke's body, knees against his sides and his soft-furred balls bumping Hawke's chin. Closing his eyes, Hawke stretched his tongue out, just catching the tip on Anders' entrance, and was surprised by the noise his lover made, louder than his normal breathy pants and soft moans. He whined, and tugged on the belt, straining up to be allowed to cause it again.

Anders sat back slowly until Hawke's mouth could reach him properly, shuddering as Hawke's tongue lapped against his hole and another moan fell from his lips. The priest clenched one hand in his own hair to ground himself as the brunet eagerly worked him open with his mouth, the feel of Hawke's facial hair rubbing against him only adding to his pleasure; his ass had always been sensitive, and Anders had loved using his lovers like this, free to voice his reactions without restraint, without feeling self-conscious.

"Fuck yes, just like that, pet, _oh_." He let out a cry as he rocked down, relishing Hawke's hot, wet breath and moans against his entrance, the man's tongue expertly pressing against his slick hole as he writhed. He was tempted to let himself come like this, his cock aching at the thought, but he'd wanted to feel Hawke inside him for so long that he rose up onto his knees and shifted forward with a whine, pulling away from his lover's glorious mouth.

Anders dragged his nails across Hawke's chest, taking both nipple rings between his fingers to tease and tug as he panted, murmuring, "Such a good boy."

The noise of protest Hawke made when Anders pulled away was cut off with a gasp as the rings were yanked cruelly, and he couldn't help thrusting up in search of friction. One of Anders’ hands left him, and the other was still toying with his chest when Hawke heard the click of the lube bottle opening. He couldn't see, but the sounds of Anders slicking his fingers one-handedly were unmistakeable, and Hawke licked his lips in anticipation.

When Anders' wet fingers rubbed against his own hole, he felt the moan reverberate through Hawke's chest under his palm, and his thighs shook as he teased himself. He'd been fingering himself these last few weeks whenever he got off, imagining how he'd take his pleasure from Hawke while he ground against his sheets, but grinding against Hawke's body was much more arousing. He bit back a noise as one finger pressed in, sliding in and out of his entrance slowly, more to tease Hawke than actually let himself adjust, and he pushed a second in after a few moments, breathing turning rough as his cock throbbed.

"Please don't hold back," Hawke whispered, watching raptly as his lover's fingers thrust in and out, opening himself up right above him, just out of reach. "I want to hear you, Maker, it's so hot to hear you enjoying it."

Anders let out a breathy chuckle. "I _am_ enjoying it," the priest said, fingers twisting and thrusting deep as he tugged at Hawke's nipple ring absently. "I'll enjoy it even more when I finally sit on your cock." A third digit pressed in, the stretch making Anders groan, allowing himself to focus on his pleasure instead of on keeping silent as he worked himself open.

"Now you're just teasing me." Hawke whined at the sight of the slick rim, taut around the width of Anders' fingers, while all he could do was lay and watch. Signs of the priest's pleasure surrounded him, the way his thighs trembled where they framed Hawke's face, the slight roll of his hips every time he thrust in, and the high, breathy sounds he kept making as he forced himself looser. "Let me help you."

Too impatient to continue, Anders' fingers slid out of his hole, and he smirked at the disappointed noise Hawke made. "Mmm, I bet your fingers would feel wonderful, but not tonight, pet." He turned on the bed, repositioning himself to straddle Hawke's legs. Mercifully, he didn't tease as he rolled the condom on and slicked Hawke’s length, his lover's arousal flushed and hot in his hand. The blond moved forward, angling Hawke's cock underneath him to press against his hole, and he paused a moment to take in the eager, desperate expression on Hawke's face before he slowly sank down, lips parting on a moan as Hawke's thick cock stretched him wide, the sweet burn of it making his legs shake.

It was a struggle for Hawke not to let his hips buck up, not to try to fill his lover completely, and he pulled fitfully at the belt, chest heaving as he was engulfed in bliss. He cursed when their hips finally pressed flush together, and stared up at the beautiful vision above him as the priest began to rock his hips gently, face momentarily lost in a rapture Hawke didn't normally get to see.

Anders let himself adjust slowly to the sensation of being filled, shifting his hips and panting as each movement had dull pleasure racing under his skin. He licked his lips, heavy-lidded eyes fixed on Hawke's face, and dragged his nails down Hawke's stomach, groaning as his lover's hips arched up against him, then slapping his side in admonishment.

"Keep still, pet. I'm going to use you how I want," he purred. He rose up finally, letting Hawke's cock slide against his rim before rolling his hips and sinking back down, thrusting it deep, starting a torturous rhythm and letting out soft noises at each movement of Hawke's cock inside him. "Oh, Maker, you feel _perfect_."

"Keep still?" Hawke echoed raggedly, already losing himself in the ecstasy of Anders tightening around him, slippery and smooth and blazing with heat. "I don't know if I can, fuck, you... you're gorgeous, Fa - Anders, sir." Another roll of the priest's hips, and Hawke groaned, trying not to take his eyes off his lover's face.

The blond smirked. "Mmm, you can be good for me, can't you? I can be merciful. You have my permission to come, pet, but I won't be stopping until I'm satisfied." Hawke let out a desperate noise, and Anders could feel the man’s thighs shaking with the urge to fuck up into him.

Anders' eyes fluttered shut with another shift of his hips, Hawke's dick so hard and hot inside him that he couldn't help but give in and urge it deeper, harder, still keeping a languid pace. He wanted to savour this, to indulge in sensation and take his time, and the ring around Hawke's cock would keep him hard for as long as Anders wanted. He didn't try to stop the wanton sounds that fell from his lips, breathing hard as he teased his fingers down his own chest, pinching his nipples and moaning at the sharp sting, trailing his nails down his stomach, finally opening his eyes to see how mad he was driving Hawke.

Expression dazed, an uncontrollable whimper fell from Hawke's lips when Anders looked down at him again. The bed creaked beneath them when their hips met, and Hawke twitched, friction and heat and the way his lover was using him and making those gorgeous noises almost overwhelming. Anders had given him permission to come, but he knew well that after, with the priest still riding him, he'd be sensitive and helpless, and Hawke would be lying if he claimed the thought of it wasn't damned arousing.

Still, he was holding himself back, the ring helping him cling to the edge even as Anders used him lazily, even as the priest cried out in pleasure when he touched himself, until Anders’ hand circled his own cock. That shameless _moan_ he uttered, combined with the wetness Hawke could see shining at the head of him when he swiped his thumb across, had the brunet arching up, toes curling in the sheets with a wrecked shout of ecstasy.

Grinning, Anders allowed himself a few gratifying strokes along his length as Hawke convulsed, hips thrusting involuntarily up into him, and he rode his lover through the aftershocks until Hawke whimpered and writhed under him, forehead beaded with sweat and arms twisting against the belt. He tilted his head back and rested his hands on Hawke's strong thighs, digging his nails into flesh as the angle had Hawke's cock brushing against his prostate, and the priest let out a wanton moan as he pleasured himself on it.

"Fuck, your cock feels so good," he murmured. "You're so thick and hard for me, stretching me so well. I could do this all night, pet. Do you like being stuffed full while I ride you?"

The ring around his cock and balls meant Hawke was still painfully hard, and Anders wasn't giving him any mercy, squeezing him with every rock of his hips, his ass clenching around the toy buried inside him. One arm tugged on the belt holding them above his head, almost absently, Hawke desperately wanting to grip the priest's sharp hipbones, to touch his stiff length, to hear what he would sound like when he came like this. "Please," he panted, yanking the leather against the wrought-iron frame again, "please let me touch you."

The thought of Hawke's hands on his skin had Anders' cock twitching, but he tossed his head and kept thrusting down onto his lover. "Not tonight, but later, fuck yes. Tonight you're my gorgeous fucktoy, just want to use your cock like this, oh _yes_..." The blond's breathing grew ragged, cock dripping precum onto Hawke's stomach as he rode his lover hard, mattress squeaking with the pace, but before he could slip over the edge Anders stopped himself, panting, forcing his hips still.

He smirked at the desperate noise Hawke made, sitting up to toy with Hawke's chest. "I know how to be patient," he said, still breathless, lifting and twisting his hips so Hawke's cock rubbed beautifully against his rim, but not taking him any deeper.

As fingers raked through his thick chest hair and settled on his nipple rings, tugging firmly, Hawke squirmed against the blankets, letting out a broken cry. "Too much," he whimpered pathetically, hips bucking up at the little shocks of pleasure, just this side of overwhelming.

Anders didn't even pause, grinding down as he pulled at the metal rhythmically. "You always say that, and you never mean it," he taunted. "Until you mean it, just take it, pretty boy, just keep making those lovely noises for me."

Hawke whined, panting roughly. "Wanna touch you so badly, wanna slide my hands up your chest and grab your thighs and squeeze your cock," he rambled, some part of him recognizing that Anders had enjoyed his asking. A ring was twisted harshly, and he grit his teeth. "Let me touch you, sir, please, please let me make you feel good."

Anders grit his teeth against a groan, squeezing around Hawke's cock as his lover kept up the steady stream of begging, hips rolling against the thick length inside him, the pleas urging him on, until he couldn't stand it any longer. The blond released one piercing to grip Hawke's throat instead, and his lover's words faltered, looking up at Anders with wide eyes as the fingers tightened around his neck. Hawke's hips jerked, the priest smirking down at him as he rocked back onto his cock. "I didn't know you could get any harder for me, pet."

"You know I'll do anything for you," Hawke rasped, unable to keep from thrusting up into the vice of Anders' ass.

"And if I asked you to come for me again?" Anders purred, just grinding down now, precum a steady drip as he braced himself on Hawke's chest and massaged the tender flesh of the man's neck. "Would you fill me up like a good boy?"

Hawke's breath came in strangled gasps as he arched and moaned, and though he wasn't sure he could yet, he answered shakily, "Yes, anything, I'll be good for you, sir, _fuck_ , please, I want to watch you come all over me, smear it on my chest and I'll wear it for the day, mark me as yours, please!"

When Anders released Hawke's throat and rose up onto his knees, almost letting Hawke slip from his hole, his lover let out a plaintive whine, but it turned into a gasp when Anders reached between them to unsnap the cock ring. The priest sank down again, taking Hawke's cock deep and riding him hard as Hawke's back arched, and wrapped his fingers back around the base of Hawke's neck, stroking himself with the rhythm.

"Do it, love, come for me, fill me up," Anders moaned, voice trailing off into breathless cries with each roll of his hips as his fingers worked his cock, fucking himself on Hawke's wonderful dick until searing pleasure shot through him and he shouted his release, louder than he'd ever been before as he clenched and shook, spilling across his lover's skin.

Watching and hearing Anders come so hard on his cock sent a jolt of ecstasy through Hawke's body, near painful in its intensity, and he let out a strangled scream when the priest's fingers tightened on his throat at the same time. Hawke's hips jerked up, rocking into his lover helplessly, as he clamped down on the toy inside him and sobbed out his second orgasm.

Anders' fingers traced through the cum on Hawke's stomach, possessively smearing it across his skin. "Good boy," he murmured raggedly, still panting with exertion. After a moment he lifted his hips, hissing as he pulled off of Hawke, and leaned forward to undo the belt that bound his wrists. "Do you want me to take the plug out?"

Shaking his head in a daze, Hawke tugged his arms free as soon as he could, pulling Anders against his chest. Their skin was sticky where it met, his shoulders ached, the condom was likely a mess, and the toy could probably stand to be removed, but Hawke didn't care, nuzzling into his lover's hair as he panted unsteadily. "You're 'mazing," he mumbled, stroking his fingers over Anders' cooling skin.

Anders breathed out a laugh and kissed Hawke's collarbone, relaxing into the caress. "I've wanted to do that for a while. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Though I do recommend a shower and not _actually_ wearing my cum all day, as hot as the idea is."

Hawke's nose wrinkled at the thought. "I agree. It's sticky, and I doubt my chest hair would appreciate it." He groaned. "Speaking of sticky... you'd better move, as pleasant as this is, before I have to change the sheets."

Another shower - this was becoming a luxurious habit that Anders was reluctant to let go, waste of hot water or not - and they tumbled back into bed for an afternoon cuddle. Anders spent some time just running his fingers contemplatively through Hawke’s short hair, until the man huffed that he was starting to feel like a real pet, only there so Anders had something to stroke.

The priest laughed. “You know you’re worth far more than that to me.”

“Do I?” Hawke teased. “You’ll have to remind me.”

“All the times I’ve made you scream in unbearable ecstasy don’t count?” Anders rolled Hawke onto his back and planted a kiss on his furry chin. “I love you, Garrett Hawke, and I would dearly love to have a future with you.”

“A mansion, a butler, and a dog?” the darker man suggested, eyes lighting up eagerly at Anders’ words.

Anders wrinkled his nose. “How about a comfortable cottage, five cats, and a bevy of adopted neighborhood children, instead?”

“I have to have a dog eventually, you know. I’ve wanted one since I was little.”

With a dramatic sigh, Anders allowed, “Fine, _one_ dog. But I still want my five cats.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Hawke grumbled.

Much to Hawke’s disappointment, Anders was hesitant to spend the night at his townhouse for the second time in a row. It felt too much like taking advantage of his suspension, so he gave his lover a long, lingering kiss at the door, and headed home to his empty apartment.

* * *

As he represented his family’s donations, the Revered Mother had Hawke’s phone number, and she contacted him far too early Thursday morning to ask if he could come into the Chantry and have a quick chat. She was perfectly polite, and apologetic for waking him, but Hawke’s stomach clenched anyway. He was well aware he was a terrible liar, and didn’t look forward to the kinds of questions he was going to have to answer.

Hawke dressed well, and tried to remember that he was hardly supposed to know Father Anders, only as a priest who he occasionally confessed to, and who visited his bar on a weekly basis. He should be concerned for the accusations, but not overly, since they weren’t true, and he had no investment in Anders either way.

And he knew that any charade he tried would fall apart quickly as soon as he was put under pressure.

Still, he put on what he felt was a politely interested face when he arrived at the Chantry, and the Revered Mother met him in the nave, having awaited his appearance. Perfunctory greetings were exchanged, and she led him into her office, where Hawke joined her in sitting at her desk, though the last thing he felt like doing was sitting down.

“So, Mr. Hawke,” Leliana began, folding her hands on the polished wood. “I’m sure you know why I’ve asked you here, due to Father Sebastian’s vocal assumptions about the nature of your relationship with Father Anders. He accuses the two of you of having inappropriate relations.”

“Father Sebastian has no basis for these wild accusations,” Hawke said, crossing his arms over his chest.

She nodded. “Still, for the sake of the Chantry’s reputation, I am required to investigate. So, if you please, what is the nature of your relationship with Father Anders?”

“He’s a priest, I’m not an idiot.” Hawke shrugged defensively. “I tell him my embarrassing secrets, he tells me I should pray to the Maker. Sometimes I go see how his - how St. Surana’s is doing. It’s important.”

“And do you ever see Father Anders outside of his work at the Chantry and the shelter?”

Flashes of Anders in various states of undress, standing over him, doing terrible, wonderful things to him, ran through Hawke’s head, evidence of just how he’d _seen_ the priest, and he shifted uncomfortably. “He comes to the Hanged Man every Friday. I bartend there.”

“I am aware of that habit. I suggested it to him when he was assigned to our city, actually; a priest should be seen by his flock, not simply be a mysterious figure behind a pulpit.” She smiled fondly before continuing. “Is there anywhere else?”

“No,” Hawke said firmly, forcing down the thought of the priest’s slender fingers in his hair.

There was a pause while the Revered Mother picked up a notepad and jotted a few things down. “Do you have any phone contact?”

“What kind of a question is that?” Hawke asked, startled, and suddenly nervous. Anders had mentioned his phone was provided by the Chantry; surely they hadn’t actually gone into his records.

“A simple one, Mr. Hawke.” Leliana raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

“Of course not,” Hawke responded stiffly, positive she could see straight through him. “Why would he have my phone number?”

“I have your phone number,” she pointed out, and he flushed. “If you could answer the question, please.”

“No. No phone contact.”

With a brief nod and a note, the Revered Mother moved on. “What were the two of you doing when Father Sebastian made the accusation?”

“Just talking.” Hawke frowned, trying to remember what Anders had said when Sebastian broke in on them. “He knows some details of my private life. From confession, of course. He was comforting me.”

“Father Sebastian said Father Anders had his hand on your face.”

Certain that would be taken poorly, Hawke shook his head in denial. “My shoulder. Not my face. He’s making things up.”

Leliana sat back, expression suddenly stern, and asked pointedly, “Mr. Hawke, are you calling a priest of the Chantry a liar?”

“No!” Hawke yelped. “No, of course not. I meant… I meant he must have been mistaken. Your Reverence.”

“Of course you did.” Just like that, her gentle tone was back, and Hawke suppressed a shiver. “Now, is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

 _Sebastian’s a twat, Anders is a wonderful man, and the Chantry doesn’t deserve him,_ the man thought, clenching his hands on the arms of his chair. “Father Anders has been there for me when I needed him,” Hawke said, perfectly honestly this time. “He doesn’t deserve this.”

The Revered Mother smiled at him, and he felt it was kindly meant this time. “Your words do you justice, my child. The Maker watches out for us all.”

* * *

Anders arrived at the Chantry later that evening for his interview, already feeling awkward at being in the building without his collar. Blessedly, he didn’t see Sebastian as he headed up the stairs, and he took a moment to compose himself before rapping at the Revered Mother’s office door. Leliana called out for him to enter, and Anders was surprised to see her not behind her desk, but instead in one of the two armchairs by the window, a small table set with a tea service between them. Her robes of office were on a hanger, and she wore a simple blouse and skirt that made her look ten years younger.

“Come in and have a seat, Anders,” she offered, setting her book on the table as he shut the door. She gave him a polite, reassuring smile. “Would you like some tea?”

Thrown off by how informal the scene was, Anders shifted on his feet before accepting, and sat hesitantly in the other chair as she poured him a cup. “Thank you, Your Reverence.” He sipped from the steaming cup politely, the scent of chamomile soothing.

“You don’t need to call me that, dear. Let us set aside titles for a moment.” Leliana refilled her cup and replaced the teapot, noticing Anders’ examination of the china tea set; delicate and painted with flowers, obviously expensive. “It was a gift, long ago. Every Orlesian home has one, and it reminds me of my years there. It’s a small luxury that I allow myself,” she said, wistfully.

“It’s lovely,” Anders said, sitting back in his chair. “Do you have family in Orlais?”

“No, none related by blood. I have some friends in Val Royeaux. I was raised within the Chantry, in one of their boarding schools, before I went on to my calling.” An unreadable expression passed over her face, but it was brief, and she smiled at Anders. “But you haven’t come here to listen to my stories. Have you been busy in your time away?”

“I’ve tried to keep busy, yes. I’ve been working at the clinic, since it always needs my attention.. And taking your advice, of course, to relax and collect my thoughts.” He kept his voice neutral, banishing all thoughts of Hawke and how he’d been _keeping busy_ from his mind.

“Good. Introspection serves us well. Sometimes we give to others so much that we’re unable to see to our own needs.” Leliana set her teacup on the table and folded her hands in her lap. “What do you think your needs are, Anders?”

“I don’t ask for anything. All of my needs are taken care of, Your Rev - er, Mother.”

“So there is nothing you desire that the Chantry doesn’t provide you?”

Diplomacy and maintaining composure were one of the first lessons Anders had learned in seminary, and he responded calmly. “No. Helping those in need, doing my part to carry on Andraste’s wishes and words, those are more important than anything else.”

“There’s nothing more noble than doing the Maker’s work,” Leliana agreed. “I assume that you know I’ve been conducting interviews with the volunteers from your shelter, as well as Father Sebastian and Garrett Hawke.” He nodded, expression neutral, and she continued. “Your volunteers speak very highly of you, especially the young woman Merrill. She also mentioned that Mr. Hawke had donated a great deal to St. Surana’s.”

“Yes, he’s been very generous. He and his sister, both. They’ve given quite a bit, and I’m very thankful.”

“He seems to care a great deal about the shelter’s welfare. He’s petitioned me twice to review the funding allocated there. I’ve told him that there’s only so much I can do, of course.” Leliana looked at Anders searchingly. “Do you believe his reasons for assisting are altruistic, or something more personal?”

“I believe Mr. Hawke genuinely wants to help the people of Darktown. He believes that St Surana’s does what it can, and wishes it could do better, as I do.” Anders noticed belatedly that she wasn’t writing down any of his answers. Was this not a formal inquiry? Was she purposefully trying to throw him off with her kindness?

“May I ask you what happened after Mass, a week and a half ago, when Father Sebastian made his accusations? In your own words.”

“Mr. Hawke asked to speak to me privately. He wanted guidance with a difficult situation, and I offered him some comforting words. I placed my hand on his shoulder, for reassurance, and Father Sebastian took the situation out of context.” Anders wasn’t specifically lying to her, not yet, and he hoped silently that he would be able to do so if need be. Leliana was an imposing woman, but he respected her, and he didn’t wish to cause both her and the Maker disappointment. He would pray later for his sins, he reasoned.

“Father Sebastian told a different story, but your account matches the one Mr. Hawke gave. I fear that his prejudices may have unfairly influenced his outburst. He believes that your relationship with the man is more than familiar, even romantic in nature. He also mentioned that you’ve received personal gifts, but could not confirm who gave them to you.”

“A gift received in friendship is much different than one with romantic intent,” Anders said, thankful he’d left the cufflinks at home. He wondered why she hadn’t yet come out and asked directly if he and Hawke were together. Perhaps she was trying to trap him in a lie.

The Revered Mother leaned forward slightly, hands folded against the armrest. “Anders, what were the three vows asked of you to take in the Maker’s name when you became ordained?”

He met her eyes steadily. “Poverty, obedience, and celibacy.”

“And do you believe you’ve kept these vows sacred and true, every day?”

“I’ve tried to,” he answered, his stomach twisting. “I know I have luxuries that I could yet give up. I have performed my duties as obediently as I can.”

There was no way Leliana couldn’t tell that Anders was trying to evade her questions, but her gentle tone never faltered. He tried to keep still, to not fidget or betray anything in his expression, but it seemed like her eyes pierced him, like she was able to see into his soul and find how far he’d fallen from grace. But her next question startled him with its simplicity. “Are you happy, my son?”

“Happy?” he echoed, blinking at her. “I… I suppose so.” He _was_ happy, with Hawke, more than he could remember being since before he’d joined the Chantry, but with that happiness had come stress and guilt, his warring emotions and his fractured trust in the Chantry’s ways.

The Revered Mother gave him a sympathetic look. “The Maker wishes us to be happy, to help others, to bestow kindness, love, and charity. As a priest, you give of yourself to those in need, and take nothing in return. But it is a lonely life, and some may succumb to sin as a way of pursuing the happiness they yearn for. I know you receive joy and satisfaction from helping those in poverty, Anders. Do you think that is enough for you, to keep you truly happy? Be honest with yourself.”

This wasn’t the line of questioning Anders had anticipated. He’d expected to lie to her about Hawke, to swear he wasn’t betraying his faith and wasn’t committing lust, to promise that nothing improper was happening and then pray to the Maker afterward for forgiveness. But _this_ , this was forcing him to face his reality. Even with knowing all of this before, fretting and worrying over it as their relationship progressed, he’d had these thoughts, but hearing it directly from the Revered Mother made his heart ache; he _couldn’t_ have Hawke, his love or his support, his laugh or his embrace, and still remain in the Chantry as he had been. The priest would have only his devotion to the Maker and Andraste, his duties and his work with the poor, for the rest of his life. It used to be enough.

 _It’s not enough any more,_ Anders thought with cold certainty. To go back to a life without Hawke was impossible; he wouldn’t be able to bear it, though it may cost him his calling, his clinic, and his immortal soul to admit it.

“Anders?” Leliana asked concernedly, as he leaned forward to rest his head in his trembling hands. She placed her hand on his shoulder, her attempt at comfort only making him feel guiltier.

He let out a muffled, mirthless laugh, and asked bitterly, “Will you hear my confession, Mother?”

She was silent for a moment, and he was certain she would scold him for his mockery. “Of course,” she said.

Anders took a deep breath, trying to steady himself and failing, and stared at the floor, clasping his fingers together tightly. “Sebastian’s claim is true, Mother. I have failed my calling and betrayed the Maker and Andraste with my selfishness. I’ve broken my vow of celibacy. I’ve gone against the Chantry and its teachings and fallen to sin, and Maker forgive me but I _love him_ , I love him so much.” The priest’s voice cracked at the admission, his hand covering his mouth as if he could prevent the flood of shame and disgrace that welled up inside him. “Help me.”

Leliana’s hand tightened on his shoulder, her voice quiet. “Does he know?”

He closed his eyes; he couldn’t bring himself to look at her, to see the disappointment that would certainly be on her face. “Yes,” he murmured. “He feels the same. He would never ask me to leave, but… I know I couldn’t stay.”

“No, Anders, you couldn’t stay,” she replied softly.

Anders grit his teeth and covered his face with his hands, shaking as tears trickled down his cheeks, cursing his weakness and his failure. Leliana rubbed his shoulder soothingly, murmuring in Orlesian. ”Oh, _mon pauvre, vous ne méritez pas cela._ ”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” the priest managed, “Andraste put aside Her own husband for the Maker’s will, I know I should be stronger than this, but I… I _can’t_ , I know how terrible it is, how terrible I am for it.”

“You’re not Andraste, my son. Comparing yourself to Her is impossible.” She gently rested her other hand on his arm, her comfort only making him feel worse. “You are a good man, Anders. You have a good heart. Though you have sinned, the Maker will forgive you.”

 _If I leave Hawke,_ he thought, growing cold at the thought. “I just wanted to serve Him. I thought it would be enough, but I wasn’t happy, not really. How can I go back to it?”

[ ](http://blinkdraws.tumblr.com/post/143815639343/ive-been-reading-temptations-of-the-wicked-by)

Leliana stayed silent while he spoke, until he finally calmed down enough to raise his head and take the tissues she offered, still not meeting her eyes. “Allow me to tell you a story,” she said. “There was a girl whose only wish was to spread Andraste’s chant and help others find the Maker. She was young, about to join the seminary, and it was to be her lifelong calling. But one day, she met a woman; a vibrant, lovely woman who opened her eyes to the world outside the Chantry and her dull boarding school.”

Anders blinked in surprise, daring to look at the Revered Mother, and found her expression bittersweet, lost in memory. “The girl had a choice to make: serve the Maker, or follow her heart. She chose her heart, and lived with the woman for many years. The happiest years of her life.” Leliana smiled softly, eyes drawn to the tea set. “It wasn’t always easy, but they loved each other. And when the woman became ill and died, the girl decided to return to the Chantry and take up her calling again. Though she was hardly a girl anymore,” she said, wryly. “They took her back, of course, but they never quite accepted that she’d been happy without them.”

“You…”

“Did you not wonder why I’ve remained only a Revered Mother all this time? Chantry politics. Despite my twenty years in Kirkwall, serving the people here, they will never forgive me for leaving them, as if they were a jilted lover.” Anders let out a shocked noise at her frankness, and she chuckled. “But it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve lived a good life, and I am happy with it, and now I only want others to be able to do the same.”

“Kirkwall is blessed to have you,” he said. “I’m sorry for your loss, and the way they’ve treated you.”

Leliana shook her head. “Don’t be sorry for me. Kallian has been gone for many years, but I don’t regret my choice. But you, Anders, this life isn’t for you. Despite the good you’ve done, I don’t think you will ever truly fit in the Chantry. You’re too stubborn, you care too much for those in need, and you yearn for companionship.” She didn’t speak as if she was scolding, just stating facts. “I thank you for being honest with me, but you still have a choice to make.”

“You’re in charge of the investigation,” Anders replied. “I’ve just told you everything, and you have to report it to the Grand Cleric. I’ve made my choice.”

“You asked me to hear your confession, did you not? The seal of confession is sacred.” The priest opened his mouth to protest, but she stopped him with a gesture. “You were careless, and caused suspicion. _This_ is not a choice. If you were to be removed from your position like this, you would have doubts for the rest of your life on whether you had done the right thing. I don’t wish to cause scandal in the Chantry when it isn’t warranted. My report to the Grand Cleric will state that there wasn’t enough evidence to confirm Father Sebastian’s claims. You will need to leave on your own terms. Do you understand?”

The priest nodded, and Leliana sighed. “It will not be easy for you, I know. I give you my word that I’ll do what I can for your clinic. But don’t worry yourself with that. Sometimes the Maker gives us a sign when we need it the most, to guide us on the proper path. There are many ways you can serve Him, and not all of them involve you wearing Chantry robes.”

Anders didn’t know what to say to all of that, other than a heartfelt, “Thank you.” It seemed to be enough, and she smiled sadly at him as she patted his arm.

He left the Chantry in a daze, not really processing all that had happened until he made it to his car, where he let out a hysterical laugh as he clutched his stomach, buzzing with nervous energy. Exhausted and bewildered, the only thing he could think to do was text Hawke that he would be sleeping that night at the man’s home again, and would see him when they both woke in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Mon pauvre, vous ne méritez pas cela.” = “My poor thing, you don’t deserve this.”  
> *Thank you Maya & Captainmoutchi for the correction <3
> 
> The [fanart](http://blinkdraws.tumblr.com/post/143815639343/ive-been-reading-temptations-of-the-wicked-by) for this chapter is by Blinkdraws! Yay! Thank you!


	27. Chapter 27

  
_There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but the Maker is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it._  
_Trials 10:13_  


* * *

  


Anders awoke early, not much later than he was used to on normal days, the sun just starting to stream weakly between the curtains in Hawke’s bedroom. He extracted himself carefully from the man’s embrace so as not to wake him, pressed his back to the headboard, and just watched Hawke sleep for a while, the calm rise and fall of his chest soothing.

He wondered how the clinic was doing, and then he wondered how it would function without him. It probably wouldn’t. Not much use to have a shelter that didn’t provide food or hot water, that could barely keep its doors open for want of money for rent and utilities. Of course, without his income from the Chantry, he wouldn’t be much help to it anyway, just another warm body offering apologies and false hope. And what would he do for income once he’d left the Chantry? Hawke might be perfectly willing to support him and his clinic, but Anders wouldn’t be able to stand being so useless for long.

Leliana had left the choice to leave up to him, and she seemed certain he didn’t belong with the Chantry any more, but Anders couldn’t see a good alternative. There was no way he could remain a priest _and_ have his relationship with Hawke; this investigation had proven that. But leaving would mean he had no place to live, no job, and would likely doom his clinic.

With a soft groan, Anders dropped his forehead to his knees. He couldn’t abandon St. Surana’s, nor could he live with himself knowing how much happier he was with Hawke. He _needed_ Hawke, as selfish as it was, and that meant there was no good solution.

The distressed noise apparently woke Hawke, who rolled onto his side and squinted an eye open, making an incoherent questioning sound when his outstretched hand encountered Anders’ foot instead of his side. “S’wrong?” he mumbled, petting the skin he had found, and Anders huffed a small laugh.

“It’s nothing, go back to sleep. It’s still very early.”

“No, you’re not okay,” Hawke protested blearily. He pulled himself closer, wrapping his arms around one of Anders’ legs, and sighed. “Go ‘head, talk my ear off.”

“If you insist.” Anders smiled fondly and adjusted until Hawke’s arms were wrapped around his waist, instead, threading his fingers into the man’s hair to gently detangle it from its sleep-mussed state. He lingered for a moment, lost in thought, and suspected by Hawke’s stillness that he had fallen back asleep.

Hawke stirred, though, when Anders’ hand stopped moving, and sounded a tiny bit more awake. “Well? What’s up?”

“I had my interview with the Revered Mother,” Anders said, and he felt Hawke start into full wakefulness, eyes opening to look up at him seriously. “I told her the truth.”

The brunet blinked up at him as he took in the words. “You _told her_?” he asked, shocked.

“I think she already suspected, Hawke. She asked me questions I wasn’t prepared for. She asked if I was ‘happy,’ and I said yes, but I was thinking of you, not the Chantry. And then it all just… came out.” He pet Hawke’s hair as he continued, the man’s arm tightening around his waist. “You won’t believe it, but she understood. She told me she’d fallen in love with a woman before she joined the Chantry, and they were together for years until she died. Leliana took her vows afterward.”

“Holy shit,” Hawke said softly. “You’re right, I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it or not, then. She applied the seal of confession to what I said, too, so that it can’t go into the report. I have to make my own decision to leave, she said, and not be forced out.”

Hawke was silent for a moment, thumb idly tracing Anders’ skin under his shirt. “I’d never picked her for a romantic, but I’m glad she was sympathetic. I should probably apologize to her for being such an ass,” he said, snorting. “So… are you going to leave?”

Anders heard the note of hope in his tone, and tugged Hawke’s hair until the man met his eyes. “I don’t have a choice. I don’t want to leave the clinic behind, but I can’t leave you. I need you. And the thought of spending the rest of my life, alone, in the Chantry, with people like Sebastian…” He shook his head. “Leliana was right. The Chantry isn’t right for me.”

Hawke’s face broke out into a relieved grin, and with some effort, he managed to reach up and pull Anders awkwardly down against him for a kiss. “I need you, too. I _love_ you. And I’ll try my hardest so that you don’t regret leaving.” 

Anders sighed, letting Hawke curl up against him. “There’s just so much to deal with. I don’t know how anything is going to work out. I won’t have a job, or a place to live, and I’ll lose the clinic. It won’t last without me, and all those people will have nothing, again. I wish I could have done more with it, but I never had the time or the funding, and everything is in the Chantry’s name. Maker, I just don’t know where to start.”

Biting his tongue, Hawke listened to Anders, restraining himself from interjecting with the generous offers he wanted to give. _Stay with me, live with me, I’ll buy you ten clinics and we’ll be together and I’ll take care of you._ He knew that Anders had hesitations about accepting such things, and he didn’t want to take his lover’s agency away from him or force his hand. Anders would have to make his own decisions about his future, and he’d do his best to provide support. “Well, you have all the choices in the world now. I mean, you could do anything. What do you want to do? Ideally.” he asked.

“Ideally?” Anders sat back, closing his eyes briefly. “I want to turn the clinic into a _real_ resource, where people can get more than a bed for the night: they can get help finding jobs and learning skills. I want to be able to support that, which means I need to have money, probably a new job of some sort. And I want to stay with you. Perhaps… live with you, if you were ever serious about that.”

“Of course I was serious.” Hawke brushed that off as if it were a ridiculous notion, and observed, “Keeping that clinic up and running sounds like a full-time job to me.”

“It would be, if it were doing all that I hope for from it.” Anders shrugged. “Unfortunately, its very nature means that it doesn’t create any income.”

“Donations?” Hawke suggested. “Fundraisers? You could… have the residents knit blankets, or something.”

“That’s not as bad a suggestion as you make it sound, actually.” Hawke watched as Anders’ expression turned contemplative. “We could try to get a grant to get started, and ask people to contribute once they’ve gotten back on their feet… but, Hawke, the Chantry owns St. Surana’s. They wouldn’t just give it up, it looks too good for them.”

“I could buy it from them.” At Anders’ chastising look, Hawke amended, “ _We_ could buy it from them. I’m sure it’s not worth all that much, monetarily.”

With a firm shake of his head, Anders said, “That ridiculous thousand-dollar flood of donations was enough charity from you, Hawke, I couldn’t possibly. But… if we were to consider it a _loan_ , perhaps.”

“Yes!” Hawke sat up, excited that Anders was going to let him contribute. “Bethy can write it up, even, as practice for her classes. Make it official and everything.”

“I’ll still need an income,” Anders said cautiously. “Though I don’t know how much the degree in philosophy that Seminary gave me is worth. Probably next to nothing.”

“We’ll work it out.” Lifting Anders’ hand to his lips, Hawke pressed a kiss to it, grinning eagerly. “We’ll get you your clinic, and you can live with me, and we’ll fuck ourselves into exhaustion every day.”

The priest couldn’t help but laugh, despite his still-churning emotions. “This is all very simple for you, isn’t it?”

“And it’s not for you.” Hawke’s grin turned apologetic, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair out of Anders’ face. “I’m sorry. I’m just so happy that we’re going to have a real relationship, now. It’s easy to forget how much you’re losing.”

“Six years of my life,” Anders said softly. “They took me in, after everything, when I went to the Chantry for help. I thought I was doing the world some good. Was it all a waste?”

“No,” Hawke said adamantly. “You did a lot of good while you were there, you helped a lot of people and yourself, you built the clinic up from nothing. It wasn’t a waste. You’ll still be using what they’ve taught you, all the counseling and helping the poor and all that, just not under their name.”

Anders hummed and nodded, but still didn’t look entirely convinced. “I suppose. And it led me to you, though I’m sure the Maker didn’t intend for _that_ blasphemy to happen.”

“Well you know what the Chantry always says: ‘the Maker works in mysterious ways,’” Hawke teased, and Anders rolled his eyes and hit him with a pillow.

* * *

Hawke had asked what the priest wanted for lunch, and after grudgingly admitting he’d like some comfort food from his childhood, his lover had gone to the store and left Anders alone with his thoughts. The sudden potential the priest felt for the clinic after their conversation cheered him, though he still wasn‘t convinced that Hawke could pull off buying it from the Chantry, and he decided he’d text Merrill to check in and verify a few things.

> 11:45am Anders: _Merrill, you knit, correct?_
> 
> 11:52am Merrill: _Yes I do! I haven’t been lately but I would like to do it again soon!! Why do you ask? Also how are you??_
> 
> 11:54am Anders: _I’m fine. Just trying to plan some activities for the clinic. Do you think you’d be willing to teach others? Not just knitting, maybe other things as well?_
> 
> 11:58am Merrill: _Oh yes I’d love to!!! I can knit and crochet and sew too and that would be very useful for other people to learn!!! Oh and gardening too once it’s not cold!!!! That would be lovely don’t you think??_
> 
> 12:02pm Anders: _It would be, yes. Try not to get too excited yet, we still have to figure out how to keep afloat._
> 
> 12:05pm Merrill: _Izzy wants me to ask something inappropriate about Hawke so pretend that I did :) also I do hope you’re not in trouble with that Chantry woman, though she seemed very nice!_
> 
> 12:07pm Anders: _Tell Izzy I said to mind her own business, then._
> 
> 12:10pm Anders: _I’m not in trouble, though there’s going to be some changes. I’m working on them with Hawke. I’ll be in tomorrow, thank you, and give my thanks to the other two for taking care of things whenever I’m not there._
> 
> 12:12pm Merrill: _Good!!! Don’t worry everything is fine!!!_

The slam of a car door outside heralded Hawke's return with several bags of groceries, far more than the boxed macaroni and cheese Anders had suggested, but Hawke had figured he'd take the chance to pick up a few more things. Ice cream, for one. He'd introduce Anders to Hawke family traditional pick-me-up sundaes.

"Cheap-ass mac and cheese, and cheap-ass hot dogs to slice up and put in it. I grabbed broccoli, too, in case you want to add that," Hawke announced, piling the plastic bags onto the counter. Anders smiled at him and began to put the food away as Hawke pulled out a pot.

Lunch was easy enough to prepare, and Hawke had to admit that despite his poorer days being only a year previous, it did trigger nostalgia to sit at the dining table together over bowls of affordable sustenance. Eventually, though, Anders grew quiet, lost in thought, and Hawke gave him a concerned look. "What is it?"

The priest shook his head, offering a rueful smile. "Nothing. It's just been a very long week, with so much happening, but you've been wonderful. And I'm beyond thankful, though I still feel like I shouldn't be so happy." He pushed aside his bowl and placed a hand on Hawke's arm. "I don't really know how I can make it up to you. Aside from the more depraved ways to show my appreciation," he said with a quick smirk.

"You say that as if I don't appreciate your depravity!" Hawke scoffed. "You should absolutely be happy, no matter what makes you that way. Come on." He stood up, walking around behind Anders' chair, and rubbed gently at his shoulders. "Let me relax you, take your mind off things. You've thought quite enough this morning."

"You're right about that," Anders said wryly, standing as Hawked coaxed him up from his seat and took his hand, leading him to the bedroom. The blond cocked an eyebrow playfully as Hawke wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled against his neck. "And just what sort of relaxing did you have in mind, pet?"

Hawke nipped at his lover's ear, saying softly, "Let me take your clothes off." His hands slid down Anders' back and into the waistline of the simple pajama pants he wore, teasing at his skin suggestively. "That's a good start, don't you think?"

Despite everything they'd done, Anders still hadn't had the luxury of letting Hawke undress him; he usually preferred to be the one who touched and teased instead, but who was he to deny Hawke's desires? "It's a start," he agreed, pulling Hawke in for a kiss, moaning softly against his lover's mouth as Hawke's hands slid under his shirt. Fingers caressed his back and sides as the fabric rose, tracing over his chest until he was forced to break away from the kiss, his arms raising as Hawke pulled the shirt over his head.

As soon as the shirt was out of the way, Hawke's mouth pressed against the base of Anders' neck, not hard enough to leave a mark - he'd been scolded for that before - but swiping his tongue against clean skin as he hooked his thumbs in the man's waistband. His hands ran over Anders' soft ass while he tugged the fabric down, and then Hawke had to pull away to finish the job, dropping to his knees. Anders' cock was just beginning to show interest, and the brunet grinned as it was revealed, licking his lips at the memory of its shape in his mouth.

Anders sat down on the bed, letting Hawke pull the fabric from his legs and press lips against his knee, his lover glancing up through his lashes while his mouth teasingly trailed higher. He stopped Hawke with a hand threading through his hair before he’d gotten too far, tugging firmly. "I want to ride you again, pet," he said, voice heady with desire as he imagined taking Hawke's cock again. "Be a good boy and fetch my boots, I want to wear them while I fuck myself on you."

"Naked but for your boots? Scandalous," Hawke teased, but he was already moving to obey, and Anders watched indulgently while the man slid them onto his feet. Hawke caressed the skin of his calves as he moved, tugging, tightening, kissing the stiff leather, and continued touching and tasting after Anders was laced into the boots, focusing his mouth on the soft skin behind the priest's knee.

The blond stifled a noise that threatened to spill as Hawke's tongue dragged across his skin; he hadn't known that spot was so sensitive. "As if I hadn't fucked you while wearing only these before. You love it," he replied, tugging on Hawke's hair again to have him stop. "Lay back on the bed for me."

Hawke grinned and grazed his teeth along Anders' skin once more, then moved to obey, tossing off his clothing while Anders gathered the lube and a condom. He lay on his back, arms folded behind his head to watch Anders' every movement, his cock already hard, and the priest wrapped his fingers around it as he straddled Hawke's thighs, just holding it teasingly while Hawke bucked, trying to get friction. "You wanted to touch me last time. Are you going to behave if I leave your hands untied?"

Hesitating, Hawke bit his lip as he looked up at Anders, the priest raising an eyebrow the longer he continued to delay answering. The idea of being able to touch Anders while the man fucked himself on his cock was a lovely one; all their sessions had been, his lover bringing him to heights of ecstasy he'd never imagined trying for, but this time Hawke felt himself in the mood for something a bit different.

He reached out and rested his hands on Anders' knees. Only that, at first, and his expression must have been something because Anders only watched him quizzically, hand loosening, as Hawke's palms slid slowly up the muscles of his slim thighs until they brushed over the blond's hipbones. Then Hawke grinned, gripping his lover's waist firmly and pulling him down, flipping them both over so Anders lay beneath him, the priest blinking up at him in wordless confusion. "I don't think I feel like behaving."

Instinctively, part of Anders wanted to fight against Hawke's audacity, to punish him for his nerve and misbehaviour. But another side shivered at the weight pressing him into the mattress, Hawke's strength and heat surrounding him, the dark longing in Hawke's eyes and the eagerness of his expression. Still, he gripped Hawke's shoulders tightly, glaring up at him even as arousal raced through him. "You dare to be so disobedient? What are you planning? I don't beg, Hawke," he hissed, the heel of a boot scraping against Hawke's thigh.

"Hadn't quite thought it through yet," Hawke said mildly, and Anders’ arms gave easily when he bent to nip at the man’s collarbone. The erection pressing hard against his flesh encouraged him to continue. "But I want to touch you, and you _loved_ having my tongue in your ass... and I do think it's your turn to be fucked, _Anders_."

An actual shiver went down Anders' spine at the words, making him gasp, and Hawke's chuckle was triumphant against his skin. It wasn't as if it were required that the blond maintain their roles in the bedroom, but the prospect of not being in charge brought back memories of the only other times he'd been underneath a lover like this. Karl had never particularly enjoyed dominant play, so Anders had pushed it aside willingly, and they'd had plenty of fun without such things.

But he shook himself from going down that train of thought, focusing on the moment instead, on Hawke wanting him, wanting to take control and give _him_ pleasure, for once. And if Hawke wanted this, Anders would allow it, and let Hawke do what he wished, because he loved him, and trusted him not to push any further than Anders was comfortable with.

"Go on, then," Anders said with a smirk, deliberately relaxing to stretch against the sheets, waving a hand mock-dismissively. "Impress me."

Hawke laughed, partially in relief that Anders was going to let him. "You think I can't?" He braced himself on the bed and traced along Anders' skin with his tongue, pausing to suck a mark into his shoulder, then nudged the priest's knees further apart so he could settle himself properly between them. "All this time together and you think I don't know where you liked to be touched?" Sliding down Anders' body, Hawke tugged gently on a nipple with his teeth.

Fingers threaded through Hawke's hair as the brunet sucked and bit at the sensitive nub, Anders' breath catching on the sensation sparking through him. He let out a pleased noise as Hawke circled his other nipple and delivered the same attentions, his knees clenching against Hawke's sides. "We'll see how well you've been paying attention," Anders purred, letting his other hand wander over Hawke's strong back.

Hawke was tempted to grab Anders' wrists and hold him down, to watch his lover under his power for once, but he was sure that wouldn't be received well, and decided he'd have to make the man writhe and arch through other means. He worked his way down the blond's chest, tasting the salt of his flesh, sucking little bruises into his pale skin as he went. Though Anders' cock was begging for attention, Hawke avoided it, instead running his hands down the man's thighs while he sealed his mouth over his sharp hipbone.

Anders bit his lip to hold back a groan, tightening his grip on Hawke's hair as his lover's wicked mouth marked his skin, resisting the urge to force Hawke's lips around his throbbing cock. He'd still make Hawke work to coax noises from him, though at the rate this was going, Anders might be giving in sooner than he liked. Teeth grazed down his hip, Hawke's mouth latching onto his inner thigh; the priest's nails dug into Hawke's shoulder, hissing out a breath as he arched into the pleasure. He followed Hawke's movements hungrily, resisting the urge to lay his head back and let go, part of him still reluctant to give up full control. "You're such a tease," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"I've always been a tease," Hawke chuckled, ghosting a breath over Anders' cock, watching it twitch before he moved to the other thigh. "It works wonders to make people grab my hair and force me to get on with it."

"I have patience, and I thought _you_ wanted to be the one in charge tonight." The words ended on a moan as Hawke lapped at the crease of his thigh and hip, beard scraping wonderfully against his skin, and the priest's breath turned ragged as his lover nuzzled against his balls. "Unless you just enjoy me fucking your face too much to let that stop you."

Hawke didn't bother replying this time, too focused on exploring Anders as he wished, mouthing over the sensitive skin of his balls as his hands smoothed over the priest's inner thighs, nails scraping lightly. He moved upward unbearably slowly, nosing against the base of his lover's cock before pressing his mouth to it, the hot, dry skin silky under his tongue when he slid it over the thick vein. Breathing in the musky scent of Anders' arousal, Hawke hooked a hand under one of the man's knees, lifting it to spread him wider.

Anders shuddered and let out a soft noise, both at the wonderful teasing from Hawke's mouth and the strong grip around his leg; the thought of Hawke moving him how he wanted, using his strength to manhandle him into position, had his nails digging into Hawke's skin. He brought his other leg up to rest across his lover's back, the boot pressing in as Hawke's hand gripped his thigh, pulling him closer and holding him open. "Fuck," Anders groaned, looking down to catch the man's cheeky wink as he tongued the head of his cock.

Every little shift and sound from his lover gave Hawke a thrill of pleasure, letting him know what effect he was having on the priest when his hips lifted, his legs tightened, the heel of the boot tried to urge him closer. He hummed against Anders' cock, taking just the tip into his mouth, quite determined to tease the man until he was shaking with need; Anders had claimed he wouldn't beg, and Hawke felt like testing that.

Tugging at Hawke's thick hair, Anders’ hips thrust up into his lover's wet mouth, letting out a growl when Hawke still refused to take him fully. His back arched as Hawke pressed his tongue into the slit, the grip on his legs tightening. The priest tried vainly to hold back from making noise, but when Hawke sucked at the tip, he cursed and made a frustrated noise. "Do it, _fuck_ , I want your mouth," the blond growled, both hands fisting in Hawke's hair.

Instead of giving in immediately, Hawke stopped long enough to point out, "You _have_ my mouth," but then he sank back down, holding Anders' hips steady with his weight as he opened his throat for his lover's length and swallowed around it. The blond let out a startled cry, and Hawke would have chuckled if he’d had the air, instead pressing his tongue to the underside and beginning to bob his head in a slow, steady rhythm.

Anders writhed against the delicious heat of Hawke's mouth, panting and clutching at Hawke just to get some sort of anchor as his cock throbbed with the torturous pace his lover set. Low murmurs of praise slipped out between moans, hips jerking against Hawke's grip with every movement, the head of his cock deep in Hawke's throat. It wasn't long before his breathing grew ragged, legs clenching against Hawke's shoulders as the blond cried out softly with each movement of Hawke's head, until suddenly his lover pulled off with a grin and left Anders nearly shouting in frustration.

"You have patience, right, Anders? Unlike me," Hawke taunted, licking his lips at the sight of Anders' spit-slick cock, twitching in denied need against the priest's stomach. Before the man could do more in response than moan, Hawke was urging his legs up higher, snagging a pillow to shove it underneath Anders' ass, leaving him spread and exposed to Hawke's gaze. "Now let's see just how sensitive you are here."

Then Hawke bent to his new task, laving his tongue over the wrinkled flesh of Anders' entrance.

"Oh, you... f-fuck," the priest exclaimed, letting his head head fall back under the nearly overwhelming sensations as Hawke's mouth worked him open. Needy, wordless cries fell from his lips at each movement of Hawke's tongue against his hole, black boots digging into Hawke's back as he writhed against his lover's grip. Anders shuddered in ecstasy, pinned down and laid bare for Hawke's mouth, hands desperately gripping both Hawke’s hair and his own as his back arched.

Hawke would have grinned if his mouth were free, Anders’ intense reactions everything he’d hoped for. He savoured the noises, loose and unrestrained as they never were, as he nuzzled along the priest’s cleft, working his tongue over sensitive flesh, pressing his way inside.

The slide of Hawke's tongue inside his entrance broke him, the wet, sinful pressure and Hawke's hot breath against his hole making Anders shout raggedly as he came, thighs shaking uncontrollably in Hawke's grasp, that wicked mouth not stopping until his tense muscles finally relaxed. He dimly noticed his lover releasing his legs, pressing a kiss to his softening cock and lapping up the mess on his stomach. "Maker's fucking breath," Anders panted, looking down at Hawke in awe.

Neglected erection throbbing at the amazing feeling of Anders coming untouched under his attentions, Hawke crawled up until he could press his tongue into Anders' mouth, both men moaning as they shared his taste. "Not done yet," Hawke muttered, groping for the bottle of lube. "You said you wanted to ride me." He snapped it open; he'd be using it, no matter what his lover answered. "Still want my cock filling you up, love?"

An almost painful surge of lust shot through Anders at the thought of Hawke fucking him into the mattress, and he wondered if he could come a second time from his lover's cock; he'd been able to go more than once in the past, but that had been years ago.

The priest offered Hawke a smirk, giving his hair a playful tug. "Yes, pet. I want you to stretch me wide and fuck me hard."

"Good." Hawke kissed him firmly, and then sat back to slick his fingers, lifting one of Anders' legs to drape it over his shoulder and leave him open. This part, he'd only seen Anders do to himself once, so he started slowly, circling his wet hole before pressing one finger inside, sliding it in and out gently.

Still sensitive, Anders let out a shuddering breath as Hawke breached him. His fingers were thicker than Anders', but even the first was just a teasing, sweet stretch against his relaxed rim. "More," he said, when Hawke lingered, and his lover chuckled, pressing a second against his hole and pushing it in, achingly slow.

"You're always so demanding," Hawke admonished, thrusting his fingers harder, bending them to rub against Anders' walls, and he grinned when the man gasped, leg tensing over his shoulder. "Even when I have you under me, Anders, you just keep telling me what to do." Tips of his fingers teasing on the rough spot inside with every movement, spreading them to work his lover open, Hawke turned his head to suck a mark into the sensitive flesh above the boot.

"Fuck," Anders swore, hips jerking as Hawke's thick fingers rubbed against his prostate, his hands falling to clench the blankets underneath him. Hawke's teeth sank into the skin behind his knee and he let out a choked noise, cock stirring already at the rhythmic movements of his lover's mouth against his tender flesh, and at the knowledge that he was going to be covered in marks from Hawke's mouth when this was over. "And you're always a _brat_ , always pushing your luck, spending all this time teasing when you could be fucking me."

Hawke scoffed a laugh, and slowed his fingers. "Trying to rush me? Well, why don't you tell me what you want - slow and deep?" He demonstrated with his hand, filling him slowly, twisting and grinding his knuckles against Anders' rim. "Or rough and fast?" And his fingers sped up, fucking the priest hard, aching cock twitching when the man stiffened and cried out.

Squeezing around Hawke's hand, Anders met Hawke's eyes and gripped his hair again, rhythm faltering when he yanked the man’s head forward so Anders could give him a wet, hard kiss, teeth sinking sharply into Hawke's lower lip. "Rough and fast. Pin me down and stretch me wide around your cock, pound me into the bed. Maybe if you're good enough, I'll even scream for you," he purred.

The words and the image had Hawke whimpering his lover’s name. He had to pull back to snatch up the condom Anders had gotten out, suddenly eager, rolling it on with trembling fingers and slicking himself up quickly. Positioning himself at Anders’ entrance, Hawke couldn't help but glance up for permission, and the sight of the priest licking his lips in anticipation spurred him on, hand clenching on Anders' thigh as he pressed slowly, deliberately inside.

Anders let his eyes fall shut, focusing on his breathing and the wonderful burn of Hawke stretching him open. Hands tangled in Hawke's hair again as his lover bent to trail his mouth across Anders' collarbone, hips moving leisurely after giving the priest time to adjust, and though the slow, steady thrusts felt amazing, it wasn't what Anders wanted. He arched up to meet them, his other leg wrapping around Hawke's waist to urge him deeper, letting out a moan as Hawke thrust hard and deep for the next few before resuming his slower pace. "Tease," Anders hissed.

"I'm going to savour this," Hawke gasped, arms braced on the bed at Anders' sides as he moved smoothly, a flush spreading across his dusky skin. "I'm going to fuck you as long as I want, because you're letting me, because you feel so _good_ under me, oh, Anders. I love what you do to me, I'm yours, but right now, you're _mine_." He punctuated it with a sharp thrust, throwing his head back.

The possessive, lovely words had heat searing across Anders' skin, Hawke's affectionate desire burning through him as he shivered and clutched at Hawke's hair and shoulders, trying vainly to pull them closer together as his lover rocked into him. Despite how much the blond was enjoying it, he couldn't resist another taunt, even as he panted and writhed under Hawke. "You cheeky brat... you know I'll get you back for this, oh _fuck_." Another deep thrust rocked him, and he clenched around Hawke's cock, abandoning his pride and letting himself make the breathy, soft noises that he knew Hawke loved.

"I look forward to it," Hawke groaned, those sounds of pleasure getting to him more than even the hot vice of Anders' ass. He couldn’t help getting a little rougher, faster, burying his face in the crook of his lover's neck to flick his tongue out and taste his skin, but still strained to hold his pace back, though Anders' nails dug into his strong shoulders, wanting to drag this out as long as possible.

Another whine slipped out as Hawke's mouth moved across Anders' neck, and he was caught between wanting to let Hawke take his time, building a slow burn of pleasure, and wanting to be overwhelmed as Hawke pounded him hard and fast. But there would be plenty of other times to take things slow, and Anders just wanted Hawke to _need_ him as much as he needed Hawke.

The blond scratched his nails across Hawke's back, relishing the stuttered moan against his skin, and tried to urge him faster with a boot pressed against Hawke's ass, murmuring filthy words into Hawke's ear. "Fuck, _harder_ , love, fuck me hard, I want you to fucking _wreck me_."

"Demanding," Hawke gasped roughly, and despite what his body desperately wanted, he slowed, only grinding his hips in little circles, gritting his teeth at the sting as Anders' nails raked along his back again in protest. With a shaky grin, he pulled back to see the raw need on his lover's face. "You don't get to decide right now."

The tortuous grinding stuttered to a halt when Anders' hand wrapped around Hawke's throat, squeezing his fingers and clenching his ass around his lover's cock, feeling Hawke's surprised intake of breath vibrate against his palm. The blond's other hand rested at the nape of Hawke's neck, nails pricking skin. " _Fuck me_ ," he ordered.

Hawke could do nothing but comply, defenses broken down from pleasure, the familiar pressure on his throat and that commanding tone twisting in his gut and _requiring_ obedience. He let out a shattered groan as he gave in, digging his knees into the mattress for leverage, forcing Anders' upraised leg higher, and finally, finally pounding into his lover like they both wanted.

" _Yes_ , fuck!" Anders moaned, letting his hand tighten around Hawke's throat for a moment before releasing his grip, lest he forget himself as Hawke thrust into him hard and rough. Instead, his hands clutched at Hawke's back, scraping bloody furrows into his skin as he clung tightly. Anders ached with lust, held down and fucked open on Hawke's thick cock, Hawke's fingers digging bruises into his knee, his arousal throbbing with need against his stomach. He couldn't help the words that tumbled forth, increasing in volume as his lover angled his hips perfectly. "Oh, you're so good, Hawke, so fucking good, yes, just like that, don't fucking stop!"

And Hawke couldn't have stopped even if he wanted to, praise and pain and pleasure overwhelming him as he watched the priest's face twist in ecstasy, writhing and panting and making such _noises_ Hawke never wanted to forget. Dragged helplessly closer to coming by the sting of his bloodied shoulders, Hawke released Anders' knee to reach between them, wrapping his fingers around the blond's cock. "Come on," he pleaded, "come for me again, fuck you're gorgeous, I love you, I need you, come with me, please!"

Hawke's hand expertly stroking his cock and his desperate begging was finally enough; Anders tensed, clutching at Hawke's shoulders, legs trembling as he arched and shook and screamed Hawke's name when he came, spilling over his fingers, every thrust wringing more pleasure from his oversensitive nerves. He felt Hawke shudder, thrusting hard and deep and crying out as he followed, heard his name murmured amidst ragged breathing, and this time, he was the one to pull Hawke down, letting his lover collapse against his chest as they both panted for breath.

The brunet nuzzled against Anders’ neck, suddenly hesitant about having gone too far by taking control. “That was all right, yeah?”

“That was _more_ than all right, and you know it,” Anders responded, with a self-conscious laugh. “You were perfect. I don’t think I’ve ever been so loud before.”

Hawke grinned and rose up to give Anders a kiss. “I don’t care if it’s sinful, I’m going to be proud of that.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about anyone minding your sins for much longer,” the blond said wryly. 

Hawke pouted. “No more penance?” he asked, and at Anders’ expression, he winced. “Sorry, that was shitty of me. Forget it.”

Anders sighed and ran a hand through Hawke’s hair. “Not _forever_ , but I need time away from it. There are plenty of ways I can punish you without that, though.”

“You’re always amazing, I’ve got no complaints.” Hawke shifted and groaned, tired but knowing they should get cleaned up. “Come on, shower time.”

Once they were in the bathroom, Anders frowned, looking over the sluggishly bleeding marks on Hawke’s back, and ran a wet washcloth gently over the ragged scratches. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so rough with you.”

“I like it when you’re rough with me,” Hawke retorted, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Besides, it was fucking hot that you enjoyed yourself that much. I’ll take it as a badge of honor that I did something right, and a punishment for misbehaving.”

“Cheeky,” Anders murmured, and bent to gently kiss each of the welts.

By the time they’d gotten dressed and moved to the living room, it was approaching time for Hawke to leave for the bar. “Are you coming in tonight?” he asked.

“It would probably serve as a distraction,” Anders replied, running a hand idly over Hawke’s chest. “Maybe I should.”

“You should. And after, you can come back here, and I’ll get to see you when I come home.” Hawke took Anders’ hand and brought it to his lips. “I’d like that.”

Anders smiled. “You don’t think you’ll get tired of seeing me every day?”

Hawke scoffed and grinned. “More like I’ll be exhausted and sore from always having you around, but I look forward to it.”

“You say that now,” Anders replied with a smirk, and Hawke yelped when he tugged at a nipple ring through his shirt.


	28. Chapter 28

_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls._  
_From these emerald waters doth life begin anew._  
_Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you._  
_In my arms lies Eternity._  
_Andraste 14:11_

 

Once Anders officially left the Chantry, his clinic would be lost to him unless he simply wished to volunteer, and he honestly didn’t know what would become of it without him invested in its administration. Certainly no one else had ever expressed any interest in running it. So he waited, performing his priestly duties professionally, if nervously, while Hawke worked with Bethany to find someone who could help arrange the clinic’s purchase.

Leliana’s knowledge and Sebastian’s sour glares were the worst part of the wait; Anders felt a liar and a fraud, pretending to have a connection to the Maker which he didn’t think was his to claim any more. He was more than relieved, then, when Hawke informed him that he’d found a lawyer and they’d be speaking to Elthina about St. Surana’s the next week. Of course the transfer of the clinic’s ownership wasn’t a given, but Anders couldn’t imagine they’d fight very hard to keep it, since they’d deliberately taken funding again and again.

That Sunday after Mass, after over a week of anxious fretting, Anders steeled himself and walked into Leliana’s office, already changed out of his robe and collar. Hawke waited for him downstairs so they could leave together.

“Anders,” Leliana greeted him, looking up from her paperwork. “That was a lovely Mass, don’t you think?”

“As always,” Anders agreed distractedly. He glanced around the room, not meeting her eyes, and when he sat across from her and pulled a sheet of paper from his bag, his fingers were trembling.

Leliana waited patiently while he looked at the sheet, as if she knew what was coming and was unbothered, and from how their interview had gone, perhaps that was exactly it.

“I formally request laicization.” The priest’s voice was steadier than he had expected; his skin was cold, heart thumping painfully in his chest. The paper shook noticeably as he laid it in front of his superior, and he pretended not to notice. “I don’t believe the priesthood is right for me any more.”

Smoothing the letter over her desk and giving it a cursory glance, the Revered Mother smiled sadly at him. “I agree,” she said. “I will pass on the request and my recommendation to the Divine, but I see no problems.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Anders looked down at his hands, tightening them into fists to stop the shaking. Save for a few minor details, it was over. He would never lead worship or take confession again, never offer the solace of Andraste nor accept the guilt-laden admissions of a parishioner and offer advice in return. The ritual, the pageantry, the comforting, consistent schedule were all lost to him, and though he had a plan, though he had considered everything extensively and discussed it with Hawke, for the moment he felt completely unmoored.

It was the right decision, but Anders felt his gut clench in terror when he thought about the uncertainty of his future now.

Leliana tapped the desk delicately, and he glanced over to see she was holding out a little blue business card. Anders took it automatically, though all it said was “Alistair Theirin” alongside a phone number. “What’s this?” he asked, turning it over to see if there was anything more, but the other side was blank.

“Alistair was a good friend of mine, years ago. He runs an organization that helps priests like yourself get back to themselves after they leave the Chantry. I know you have a friend or two to rely on, but he will help you feel not so alone in the world, my darling.”

When Anders looked up at the woman, there were tears in his eyes, blurring his vision. “You’ve done so much for me. I don’t know where to begin thanking you.”

Leliana rose, fond smile on her face, and came around the desk. Anders stood to match her, and she wrapped her arms around him in a firm hug, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. Surprised, his hands hovered in the air for a moment, and then he embraced his former superior with a small sigh.

Before the Revered Mother stepped back, she pressed a kiss to each cheek, and Anders frowned to realize he was crying. He wiped at his face hurriedly. “I will miss you,” Leliana said, folding her hands in front of her. “You were perhaps the best thing to happen to this Chantry. You may pay me back by coming to visit, yes? Do not be too ashamed to attend Mass, for your own sake, and for mine.”

“I’ll try.” Anders gave her a brief bow. “Thank you for everything, Leliana.”

“Good luck, Anders,” she smiled.

Anders retrieved the small box of his possessions from his office, already packed, and looked around for a moment. Everything was in order, neatened and organized and lacking any personal touch, ready for whatever new priest they sent in his place. He hoped they would be kind and understanding, someone who could balance out Sebastian’s strictness, but a small part of him was convinced that the Chantry drove away anyone like that. Anyone like him, though it was prideful to think that way.

Sebastian caught sight of Anders from down the hall, eyes darting over his plain clothing and the box under his arm. “Why are you out of your vestments? What has happened?” he asked, frowning.

Anders briefly considered his newfound opportunity to tell Sebastian exactly what he thought of him, but decided he shouldn’t act rashly and burn any bridges. “I’ve given the Revered Mother my request to be laicized, and I’m leaving the Chantry. Maker keep you, Sebastian,” he said, smiling at the man’s shocked expression, and turned toward the staircase.

“You…” The priest stomped down the stairs after Anders, voice raised indignantly. “You’re _leaving_?! Does the priesthood mean nothing to you?”

“And here I thought you’d be pleased,” Anders said wryly. At the sound of his voice, Hawke looked up from where he leaned against a column by the front door, eyes narrowing when Sebastian moved around the blond to block his path at the foot of the stairs.

“Do you think this is a _joke_? You’re willingly turning your back on the Maker and Andraste?”

“Of course it’s not a joke, and I haven’t turned my back on either the Maker nor His Bride, just the Chantry. Please step back, Sebastian.” Anders tried to remain calm, but his nerves were already frayed by the anxieties surrounding his departure, and he couldn’t help glancing over at Hawke for help.

Sebastian followed Anders’ gaze and turned to see the brunet approaching; his face flushed crimson with anger. “You lied to the Revered Mother to get out of your suspension! Have you been so easily corrupted? I cannot believe you’re leaving the sanctity of the Chantry for this _filth_!”

Anders’ patience snapped, and he shouted, “How dare you say such things! What happened between the Revered Mother and myself is none of your business!”

“Go, then, and let the Void take you! We’ll be better off without you and your deviant ways defiling this place!” Sebastian was too close, accusing finger nearly stabbing Anders in the nose as he yelled, and Anders was about to retort when Hawke grabbed Sebastian’s shoulder to whirl the man around, and his fist connected hard with Sebastian’s cheek.

The priest let out a cry of pain as he staggered back against the wall, clutching his face, and stared at Hawke in a mix of terror and surprise. “Don’t you dare talk to Anders like that, you piece of shit!” Hawke growled.

“Maker’s mercy!” Leliana’s voice cut across all of them as she swiftly descended the stairs, glaring at the three men; Anders had no idea how long she’d been listening. “I will not have this in my sacred building! Sebastian, go wait in my office,” she said, gesturing sharply at him, and he left obediently with one last sullen look, still holding his face. Leliana turned her fierce gaze to Hawke, who flinched, and then Anders. “It’s best you leave now,” she said firmly.

“Yes, of course,” Anders agreed. He and Hawke wasted no time escaping the building.

Anders threw the box of his possessions into his backseat, shaking his head when Hawke winced and flexed his hand. “That was a much more explosive exit than I’d prefer.”

“He deserved it. I’m not sorry,” Hawke muttered.

The blond sighed and cupped Hawke’s jaw. “I’m not either,” he admitted, and rolled his eyes at Hawke’s smirk. “Don’t tempt me into punishing you for your wrath.”

“But that’s my favourite one.” Hawke pretended to pout.

Anders patted his cheek with a sigh. “Let’s go, I want to be done with this place for a while.”

* * *

The tempting offer of a large donation had been enough of a lure for Grand Cleric Elthina to come to Kirkwall and speak to Hawke in person. He hadn’t counted on the events of the previous day, though, and prepared himself to face both Leliana’s and Elthina’s wrath if need be. Some social discomfort and an apology to Sebastian was a small price to pay for Anders’ sake.

Anders reluctantly asked if it was necessary for him to be present, since he wasn’t looking forward to facing either of the high-ranking women after his exit. Hawke reassured him that he’d take care of things on his behalf, and Anders sent him off with a kiss and his blessing to do so.

Hawke had persuaded a lawyer friend from college for a personal favour, and Zevran had arrived that morning. He offered Hawke a wink, commended him on achieving such personal scandal, and wondered by the way, had he ever considered a threesome? The brunet regretted the decision to bring the man on board even more once his sister was introduced, and found himself seriously contemplating another assault when the Antivan launched into a flurry of compliments and sweet-talking that made Bethany blush.

“Your sister is such an intelligent, lovely woman. It’s a shame you’ve kept her hidden from me for so long,” Zevran said from the backseat as they rode to the Chantry, and Hawke glanced side-eyed at Bethany. “My practice in Antiva is always looking for good people to join us, perhaps once you are done with your schooling…”

“No,” Hawke said determinedly, and Bethany smacked his arm. “Antiva’s too far away. I’d miss you.”

“You wouldn’t, you’ll be too busy with your _boyfriend_ to even notice I’m gone,” Bethany replied. She turned in her seat to give Zevran a smile. “Maybe I could do my internship with your practice. I’ve heard Antiva City is beautiful.”

“It is the most beautiful place in the world, and therefore, all beautiful things belong there.” Hawke rolled his eyes so hard he nearly gave himself a migraine. Thankfully, the drive to the Chantry was a short one, so he didn’t have to put up with much more of Zevran’s charm. After reviewing the plan with his legal entourage, Hawke felt ready to go to battle.

And battle it would be, since the results had never been more important. Anders would be devastated if he lost the clinic, so they needed to do everything possible to keep it, while not seeming to be desperate; Hawke wouldn’t put it past Elthina to try to get as much out of the sale as she could manage.

The three of them entered the Chantry at the appointed time, long after Mass had ended, Zevran looking about with interest as the imposing building surrounded them. Fortunately, Sebastian seemed to be nowhere in attendance. The door to the Revered Mother’s office was already open when they found it, with the Grand Cleric sitting at her desk. Leliana stood to the side, and nodded in greeting as the three of them entered. She took Zevran’s offered hand politely, eyebrow arching as he bent to kiss it; Elthina simply ignored the Antivan’s attempts.

“I was not led to expect so many people for such a simple transaction,” Elthina observed, looking around at the crowded room.

Hawke gestured to his companions in turn. “Zevran is acting as my lawyer, and Bethany is my sister and a law student, so we brought her as a favour, to let her observe and offer advice. Do you object?” He smiled benignly at the Grand Cleric, and the corners of her mouth twitched down faintly.

“I doubt this will be an educational experience, my dear, but if the accommodations suit you, everyone is welcome. This is not a private discussion.” Elthina gestured for them to seat themselves, and Hawke took the only other chair in the room, Bethany coming to stand behind him.

Zevran stepped forward. “Well! Now that introductions have been made, I believe it is time to lay out what we want, no? But first, which of you lovely women owns this desk?”

“Technically, all we have is owned by the Chantry, but it is my office we are using,” Leliana said.

“Then I dearly hope you do not object - since the seating is so very limited,” Zevran said, perching on the edge of the fine wood surface and giving the Revered Mother a wink. Hawke thought her eyes may have crinkled at the corners, but she said nothing. Elthina, on the other hand, was barely holding back a scowl.

“Shall we get started?” Elthina asked, folding her hands on the desk and pointedly not looking up at Zevran. “I was informed you wish to purchase St. Surana’s. Tell me, why should the Chantry get rid of one of our most prominent charities?”

“Because it’s losing you money.” Hawke raised an eyebrow. “You get nothing from it, and with Anders gone, nobody here wants to take on the monumental task of running it and trying to keep it working. It’s a sinking ship, Your Grace, and you don’t want to have anything to do with it.”

“On the contrary. The Chantry’s ownership of a shelter in Darktown shows how much we care about the people of Kirkwall.” Hawke snorted, and Bethany surreptitiously kicked the heel of his shoe as Elthina pursed her lips at him. “I’ve heard a lot about you and your charity work, Mr. Hawke. You seem quite devoted to the place.”

The man grinned at her, showing too many teeth. “Of course. It was only through luck that my family didn’t need the type of services the shelter offers - and that’s exactly why you should sell it to me. I have a personal stake in the charity’s success.”

“Perhaps a little more personal than we are led to believe,” Elthina said.

Zevran cut in smoothly at that, saying, “I don’t think we should be repeating rumours and hearsay, don’t you agree? They are a nasty business, and _quite_ unrelated to the matter at hand.”

With a glance at the Antivan, Elthina changed tactics. “It is a shame you let your emotions get the better of you yesterday, Mr. Hawke. Assaulting one of my priests?” She tutted, shaking her head. “That, I’m afraid, is not a rumour, and does little to show your… charitable nature.”

"He deserved it," Hawke muttered under his breath.

Behind him, his sister cleared her throat loudly, and he glanced over his shoulder to meet her incredulous stare. Hawke shrugged ruefully, and knew he’d be slapped later for it. “Yes, well, you can let Father Sebastian know that I regret making a scene in the Chantry.”

Zevran smiled over the non-apology, and pulled his notebook out. “Just to make this official, before we start on the details: my client intends to purchase the charity known as St. Surana’s, which the Chantry owns, in full, including the premises, assets, income, and staff associated.” Never mind that the clinic didn’t _have_ any income or staff to speak of. “I, your handsome lawyer, will draw up a real contract later with what you both agree on, but that is the main idea, no?”

When no objections came forth, Zevran continued. “Grand Cleric Elthina, you have the authority to make this agreement?” A perfunctory nod, and he turned to Hawke. “And you are negotiating in good faith, with the funds available?” The man nodded as well, and Zevran clapped his hands. “Excellent! Now, as they say, the demons are in the details.”

This time, Bethany’s look was directed at the lawyer, and he coughed. “Excuse me, I did not think. May I offer my apologies, Your Grace, Your Reverence.”

Elthina’s brow wrinkled in a frown, and Leliana shook her head, smiling slightly.

After a series of negotiations, wherein Hawke became immensely grateful that Zevran and his razor wit were on their side, the Grand Cleric finally agreed to sell the clinic in exchange for a hefty donation, with the stipulation that the Chantry remain affiliated with St. Surana’s on paper so that they could use it as a symbol of their charitable works. In return, the Chantry would provide a modest contribution each month - the amount hardly worth mentioning - so that their affiliation remained genuine. Hawke and Elthina shook hands over the agreement, and Zevran promised to draw it up and send it to her to sign.

Leliana showed them out, and gave Hawke a wry look as he shook her hand. “Anders is lucky to have you,” she said. “I’m glad the clinic is back in his hands.”

“You’d rather it be Anders’ than the Chantry’s?” Hawke asked with some surprise.

“It means a lot to him,” was all she said, enigmatically not answering the question at all, but Hawke didn’t press the issue further.

Back in the car, Bethany had chosen to sit in the back with Zevran, who resumed his flirtatious commentary, and Hawke was soon at the end of his rope. “Do you need to go back to the airport? Flying out soon?” he asked hopefully.

“Normally I would, as I have so many things to attend to, but I find myself enraptured with the local scenery,” Zevran replied, and when Bethany giggled, Hawke craned his head to try to see into the backseat through the mirror. “Perhaps someone could show me around this lovely city? Bethany, my sweet, perhaps you would know someplace exciting and fun?”

“No.” Hawke pulled over abruptly, turned in his seat and glared at the other man, who was blinking innocently back at him. “Get out.”

Zevran made a show of peering outside the car. “I may not know your city well, but it appears we are nowhere near my hotel. Is there a problem?”

“There’s a bus stop. It’ll take you downtown, probably. Get out of my car,” Hawke huffed, gesturing at a signpost halfway down the block.

"You wound me, my friend!” Zevran said, but he was laughing, fully aware of the problem. He lifted Bethy’s hand to his lips, kissing it firmly, and called back as he climbed out of the car, “Farewell, you divine creature, I shall see you soon."

Bethany smacked the back of her brother’s head, which he had honestly expected. “You jackass, I’m a grown woman.”

Her leaving the car to pursue Zevran, however, was a surprise, and Hawke gaped after her retreating form, then laughed and headed home.

When Hawke arrived, Anders looked up from the book he’d been attempting to read, setting it aside and standing from the couch. His lover’s grin was enough of an answer to the unasked question, and he let out a relieved sigh and opened his arms for Hawke’s embrace.

“It’s yours,” the brunet said, after a victorious kiss. “Zevran’s going to write it up. They’re making a token donation every month to keep the affiliation and keep themselves looking good, but you have full control otherwise.”

“I can live with that,” Anders said with a smile. “It’s not far off how it was before, but at least I can’t lose it at their whim now. Thank you, love.”

“Anything for you. I meant it.” Hawke leaned in for another kiss, one that threatened to derail the rest of Anders’ plans for the evening, and he pouted when Anders gently pushed him back.

“We need to have Zevran write up the loan, too. Didn’t he come back with you?”

“Shit,” Hawke said. “I forgot. He was flirting with Bethany so I dropped him off downtown, and she went with him.”

Anders chuckled at his expression. “You should call him before he gets too occupied.”

“I’m going to murder him if he touches her,” Hawke grumbled, and pulled out his phone.

* * *

After leaving the Chantry officially, and taking control of the clinic through Hawke’s loan - which they also had Zevran write up a real contract for, once Hawke was able to get a hold of him - the last thing Anders felt he needed to do was inform his volunteers of the change, and begin planning for the future. Hawke came with him, there being no need to hide their relationship, and squeezed his shoulder when they paused at the entrance.

“Everything’s changing,” Anders murmured, looking up at the dilapidated sign over the door.

“Good,” Hawke said with a little nudge forward, thinking that the sign was the first thing they should fix, as a symbol. “You wanted it to.”

Merrill looked up at the sound of the door opening, and her grin was welcoming. “Oh, Anders! And Hawke? You’re coming in together! What’s happened?”

“Actually, a lot happened, Merrill. Let’s go to the back.” The clinic’s patrons were scattered around the tables in the front room, and he followed Merrill to the kitchen to speak to her and Lirene privately.

The older woman gave Anders and Hawke a once-over before stepping away from the counter where she was prepping dinner. “Evening, Father,” she said simply.

“Actually, it’s just ‘Anders’ now.” Merrill’s eyes widened, and Lirene arched an eyebrow. “I’ve left the Chantry, of my own volition. And before you worry, you should know that St. Surana’s is in my control now, thanks to Hawke. So we won’t have to deal with them or their supposed funding again.”

“Oh my goodness!” Merrill squealed, giving Anders an impulsive hug. “That’s wonderful! Wait, is it wonderful? It seems wonderful!”

He chuckled, patting her on the back. “It’s wonderful,” he agreed. The dark-haired girl moved on to give Hawke a hug, and Lirene offered him a kind smile.

“Good,” she said. “So, now what?”

“A lot of things,” Anders replied.

Both women listened with interest as the blond described what he wanted to do with the shelter, from helping people find jobs to teaching them how to garden and sew, and how they would be seeking income from grants as well as donations from ex-patrons. Lirene and Merrill volunteered additional ideas, and he was certain that Bethany would have some of her own to share; overall, Anders felt more optimistic the more he talked about the changes he wanted to see, and at hearing the volunteers echo his sentiments.

Hawke remained mostly silent, smiling as he watched Anders speak animatedly. It was worth all the hassle to see the way Anders lit up in his excitement as he discussed his plans, creating goals he could finally attain, aiming on saving the world - or at least its poorer residents.

Afterwards, Anders stood outside in the back lot with Hawke, looking over the overgrown concrete and the piles of trash with a frown.

“This is going to be a lot of work to clean up,” Hawke said, nudging a bottle with his foot.

“It’s all going to be a lot of work. But it’ll get done, with help from the clients. I want them to take part in all this too, give them something to work towards instead of just surviving. Once it gets warmer, we can build planters and start growing vegetables. Maybe we could get chickens? I don’t know how much of a temptation that would be to the cats, though.” Anders looked around for one of the usual strays, but they all seemed to be elsewhere. “I’d like to get them taken care of, too. We can get them to a vet and do more than just set food out.”

Hawke put his arm around Anders’ waist, shaking his head. “You’re already running a people charity, you shouldn’t run a cat charity on top of it. How about one species at a time?”

“The cats are important too,” Anders said stubbornly. “We could just adopt all of them, that would make it easier.”

“For _you_ ,” Hawke replied. “How many cats do you think can fit in my townhouse?"

“Is that a challenge?” Anders asked with a grin.

Hawke groaned and muttered, “Remind me why I love you, again?”

“Because I do terrible, lovely things to you, and you can’t get enough.” Anders smirked, cupping Hawke’s chin and leaning in for a kiss. He coaxed down his nervousness at doing something so bold in full view, thrilled at the knowledge that he could kiss Hawke whenever he wanted from now on.

Merrill let out an excited giggle from the doorway, clapping her hands in happiness.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you think we’d leave it at that? Don’t worry, next week’s epilogue will be gorgeously smutty.


	29. Epilogue

  
_For sin shall no longer be your master, because you are not under the law, but under grace._  
_Trials 6:14_  


* * *

It had been three weeks since Anders left the Chantry, and much had already changed. He'd started work on improving the clinic, with the enthusiastic help of his volunteers, and applied for a few grants to help with the funding. He'd also met with Alistair, Leliana's friend, who had been a great help in getting Anders used to the lay state again; just knowing that there were others like him, who had left the Chantry for personal reasons, made him feel less alone and overwhelmed. 

The former priest had officially moved in with Hawke, and donated to the clinic what possessions he'd not needed to take from his Chantry-paid, furnished apartment. Hawke had been wonderful throughout, taking everything in stride, helping Anders get used to the new changes and enthusiastically making room for him and his needs, and the blond was immeasurably grateful for his boyfriend.

Unfortunately, Anders hadn’t been comfortable using the priest outfit with Hawke since leaving; he needed distance from his former occupation, and Hawke was happy to give it to him, despite how much he enjoyed such blasphemy. They continued their games, of course, and Hawke eagerly called Anders “sir” instead of “Father” when required, but Anders knew that the man would adore adding the costume and power play back into their lives.

Wednesday was still their traditional day off together, and that morning, Anders dressed in his black trousers, button-up shirt, and leather boots while Hawke took his turn at making breakfast. The last piece of the outfit he held between his fingers, the white collar that represented a priest’s purity, and as Anders considered it, he realized that he felt a sick sort of satisfaction in reclaiming this aspect of himself from the Chantry, even if he were only using it to punish Hawke in delightful ways.

The collar slid into place, and Anders gave himself one final assessing look in the mirror, sinking into his headspace with a smirk at his reflection before he stalked off to find Hawke.

When Anders re-entered the kitchen, Hawke glanced up from the flour he was mixing into the waffle batter, and nearly dropped the bowl. He had honestly thought they’d left that part of their games behind, the collar too painful a reminder of what the ex-priest had lost, and he had resolved not to ask after it. Seeing Anders dressed in that familiar garb, looking him over proprietarily, sent a jolt of lust straight through him.

"Did you think I'd forgotten what you did, a month ago?" Anders asked softly, prowling slowly forward, and Hawke shivered, setting the batter down before he ruined breakfast. Long fingers ran over his bearded jaw, tilting it upward with a tap to his chin. The blond's eyes were dark and challenging when he ran his hand down Hawke's neck, provoking an anticipatory whimper. "Now you'll do penance for your pride and disobedience."

"Yes, anything you want," Hawke said, and Anders let his eyes travel down Hawke's body, admiring the way his lover shivered under the scrutiny, and tightening his grip threateningly around Hawke’s neck.

"You'll be naked for the rest of the day," Anders continued. "I'm going to touch you whenever I want, because you're _mine_ , and I can do what I wish to you, can't I?" Hawke gave a frantic nod, eyes glazed in submission. "You're going to keep count of how many times I edge you, pet, and if you're good for me, I'll let you come tonight."

"Fuck yes," Hawke groaned, and Anders released him and stepped back, obviously waiting for his obedience. There wasn't much to strip off - he didn't get dressed until it was necessary - but Hawke removed his boxers and socks and stood naked in the kitchen, noticeably hardening under his lover's gaze.

Anders smiled. "Good. Now go put those away, put on your rosary, then come back and finish breakfast."

When Hawke returned, the black beads hung around his neck, and Anders let his hands wander possessively over Hawke's skin while his lover resumed preparing their food. His touches weren’t teasing, nor slow; nails scratched across Hawke's hips and stomach, fingers pinched his nipples and twisted the rings, and teeth sank into the back of his neck. Anders relished each noise that he drew, until the spoon nearly slipped from the bowl as Hawke rocked his hips back.

"Don't get distracted, pet," the blond scolded, pinching his chest sharply.

"You're very distracting," Hawke protested shakily. Anders slapped his ass with a chuckle, making him jump, and backed off for a while, merely stroking Hawke's skin and kissing his shoulders until the first blueberry waffle was safely in the machine. Then the intimate caresses began again, fingers raking through Hawke's thick body hair, palm pressing against the front of his throat, only stopping when it was time to continue cooking.

By the time there were two waffles prepared for each of them, Hawke was panting and aroused, and Anders hadn't even touched his cock. The blond smirked when they sat to eat, and took up light conversation about the clinic as if it were any other day. Eventually, Hawke was able to collect himself enough to actually enjoy his food, but his gaze flicked to the collar Anders had very deliberately put back on. "Am I calling you Father today?" he asked, trying not to sound too eager.

"Of course. Do you think I'd have you go through penance otherwise?" Anders cocked an eyebrow, and gestured for Hawke to finish his food. "You deserve something more than the usual punishment for your arrogance, especially because it's been so long since you had the nerve to disobey me."

Truthfully, Hawke had been surprised when the promised punishment didn't come right away - but perhaps Anders had been too stressed, and then too busy to think of it. He certainly wasn't going to object now. "Yes, Father," he said with a little grin, taking another slice out of his waffle.

Anders finished eating first, and he got up to put his plate away calmly before returning to stand behind Hawke's chair. The man’s erection had flagged while they ate, but returned rapidly when Anders bent down with no prelude to wrap a hand around it; Hawke stiffened and set his silverware down with a loud clatter, the last few bites forgotten.

The blond's fingers moved slowly, his strokes long and firm around Hawke's cock, and as his lover's hips bucked against his hand, he pressed his lips to Hawke's ear. "You aren't allowed to touch yourself for the rest of the day, is that clear?" The brunet's whimpered nod earned him a faster rhythm, Anders nipping at Hawke's earlobe as he jerked his cock. 

Anders continued until Hawke was gasping and writhing in the chair, hands clenched tightly on the edge of the table as nimble fingers spread precum down his shaft. After another low whimper, Hawke eagerly rocking his hips into his grasp, Anders let go. Hawke groaned in frustration, and the blond smirked. "That's one. I want you to keep count for me, pet. I want to see how desperate you can get before you break."

"One," Hawke repeated obediently, leaning back in the chair and breathing hard, his hips shifting restlessly. Anders watched him with a tiny smile as his eyes slowly unglazed, until his pet licked his lips and picked up his plate, breathing through the little shocks of sensation still echoing down his body. "I'll just... do the dishes then, shall I, Father?"

Anders nodded indulgently, and Hawke couldn't help the groan as he stood. The day promised to be wonderful.

The next one happened a few minutes later, after Hawke's focus had shifted to his task. Anders slipped up behind him, pushing Hawke into the counter and sliding a hand between his legs. Hawke's startled gasp turned into a moan as Anders jerked him quickly, and the blond murmured praise against his ear, grinding against Hawke's ass. "That's it, pet, I love how hard you get for me."

Dishes fell back into the sink and Hawke braced himself against it, thrusting into the hand gliding over him, trapped between Anders' body and the counter. He knew he wouldn't be allowed to come so early in the game, but still hoped for it as the pleasure built higher, until he was gasping, his muscles tensing, and as he arched back, that wonderful pressure disappeared suddenly. The hand that had been tormenting him smoothed over his side instead, sticky from precum, and Hawke panted, rolling his hips back into the hardness in Anders' trousers. After a moment, he remembered to add breathily, "Two."

"Good boy," Anders said, bringing his palm down hard against Hawke's firm ass. "Now finish cleaning up." He chuckled when Hawke shook his head dazedly before taking up the dishes again, and Anders retired to the couch, waiting for Hawke to finish.

By the time Hawke dried his hands and joined Anders on the couch, he had gotten himself mostly under control again, enough that he was feeling confident. He tucked himself under his lover's arm, nuzzling into his side, and laid a hand boldly across the man's thigh, grinning up at the quirk of an eyebrow that earned. Anders shook his head, pulled Hawke closer, and began absently toying with a nipple ring, seemingly absorbed in the movie he'd found.

He continued teasing Hawke, slowly drawing out each reaction, a change from the rough handling in the kitchen. The brunet squirmed against his side as Anders tugged lightly at his piercing, letting his thumb trace the tip of his nipple, nails delicately scraping against his chest.

"Cruel," Hawke murmured plaintively, gasping as Anders suddenly twisted the ring hard. 

"You like it when I'm cruel." Anders shifted, letting his other hand slide up Hawke's thigh, tauntingly close to his hard cock as he continued to tease Hawke's nipple. His lover whined, spreading his thighs to try and inch Anders' fingers closer, and pressed his forehead into the blond’s neck. "It reminds you that I own you, that _this_ belongs to me," Anders hissed, forefinger and thumb wrapping around Hawke's shaft.

"Yours," Hawke whimpered in agreement, and Anders began stroking him gently, as if in reward, fingers sliding languidly over the hot skin of his shaft and the sensitive head. Rocking up into it, Hawke clutched at the couch as the blond worked him slowly and firmly, tugging at a ring with his other hand, everything rhythmic and relaxed and designed to carry him gently and inevitably towards orgasm.

Hawke had almost convinced himself that Anders was going to let him, despite how soon it was, and his fingers tangled in the black shirt as his hips began to jerk urgently. His back arched up and he begged, "May I?"

Leaning down to brush his lips over Hawke's ear, Anders breathed into it, kept his hands moving, and chuckled softly before murmuring, "No." He appreciatively soaked up the disappointed whine Hawke let out, then stopped moving and pulled away.

"Three," Hawke panted, fingers aching to touch himself, staring up at Anders' satisfied face. "Fuck, how long do you plan on this penance, Father?"

"Are you ready for it to be over so soon?" Anders teased. "I have the entire day to toy with you, and I plan on enjoying the luxury. Just be a good boy and keep count for me." 

Hawke's plaintive noise made him chuckle, and the brunet shifted closer to bury his face in Anders' shirt as long fingers stroked his hair. Anders was determined to see how many times he could bring Hawke to that delirious edge, and with hours ahead of them, he could hardly wait to see the state his lover would be in by the end.

Anders left him alone for long stretches, usually giving him enough time between edges to relax and force his body into calm again, but Hawke never knew when or how he'd be touched again. Long, gentle strokes over his skin one time, pinning him roughly down to claim his mouth and grind their hips together the next. Every time Hawke counted, he was breathless, tense, worked up and left hanging and desperate for Anders to just _keep going_ , please, fuck. He'd gotten up to fetch Anders a book from their bedroom when the movie ended, and ended up pressed against the wall gagging on his lover's fingers while the blond toyed with just the head of his cock.

Back at the couch, standing with his wrists crossed behind his back, Hawke's hips stuttered forward as Anders laved his tongue from base to tip, mouthing over the throbbing vein, stroking the soft spot behind his balls. When Anders hummed satisfaction and finally pulled back, leaving him strained and gasping, Hawke tossed his damp hair and groaned despairingly at the loss.

The brunet couldn't seem to get his thoughts back in order. He was supposed to be giving a number, but he couldn't remember how many times it had been. Forever, he thought. His lover was never going to let him come. "I - I don't know."

Anders raised an eyebrow, hand still circling Hawke's spit-slick cock. "Guess," he commanded.

"Eight?" Hawke ventured with a shudder.

The blond tutted and shook his head scoldingly. "Seven. We'll have to make it even now, won't we?"

He jerked Hawke hard and fast, his other hand cupping Hawke's balls, smirking at the pained cry it drew, Hawke’s thighs flexing as he bucked forward into Anders' tight fist. The blond licked his lips, watching the muscles of Hawke's arms tense as he twisted his hands together desperately, as he arched up onto his toes with his head thrown back in a moan. Anders abruptly removed both his hands, and steadied Hawke with a firm grip on his hips when the man cried out and nearly fell forward.

"How many, pet?" he asked teasingly, savouring the whimpers and the tremble under his palms.

"Eight, eight," Hawke sobbed, knees nearly buckling, and Anders helped him down to rest on the couch again, coaxing his arms out from behind his back. His cock stood red and swollen, streaked with spit and precum, and he twisted against the cushions as Anders kissed him fiercely.

When the blond pulled back, Hawke didn't let him go, nearly crawling into his lap in pursuit of affection. "Please," he begged, scraps of dignity scattered by need and lust. "Let me come, please, Father, I need it."

"Not yet, pet," Anders replied, running his hand through Hawke's hair. "You can be patient for me."

Hawke swore, hands pressing against Anders' body, desperately seeking skin, sliding down over the blond's clothed erection and moaning in anguish when Anders gripped his wrist to stop him. "I can't, I need you, please!"

"You _can_ ," Anders growled, abruptly manhandling Hawke down onto the ground, on his back; the man’s hips thrust up desperately as Anders straddled his naked chest, pinning his hands next to his head. "Your penance is for disobedience, Hawke, you don't want to take _more_ for continuing to misbehave, do you?"

"I'm sorry," Hawke moaned, trying to restrain his own movements. "I'm sorry, please, you know I want to be good, it's so hard to do this for you." The rosary beads fell haphazardly across his heaving chest and around his neck, and Anders resisted the urge to pull them taut around his throat.

"In more ways than one, I see." Anders arched his brows, and Hawke let out a strangled laugh. "You're doing so well, pet, taking everything I give you and suffering beautifully."

Hawke relaxed under the praise, finally falling still, though his muscles twitched and his cock stayed stiff and proud. The smirk the blond gave him next made him shiver, especially when Anders released one of his wrists to begin working at the fastening of his trousers. "Please, Father," Hawke murmured, watching with breathless anticipation as his lover's cock was freed.

"Is this what you want?" Anders asked darkly, gripping Hawke’s wrist again to keep his hands pinned, his hard cock almost brushing the man’s wet lips. "Do you want me to hold you down and fuck your mouth?"

"Please, yes, I want to taste you," Hawke moaned, trying to crane his neck forward, but Anders pulled out of reach, and his head hit the carpet with a distraught noise. "Please."

"Open your mouth," the blond ordered, and Hawke parted his lips obediently. Anders pressed forward slowly, and Hawke moaned around his length as his mouth was filled. The angle wasn't right to fuck his throat, but the delicious heat surrounding him was lovely nonetheless, Hawke's tongue working him as Anders rocked his hips and groaned.

Pinned down and surrounded, Hawke couldn't help straining up against Anders' body, restless with lust and eager to have Anders as lost in pleasure as he was. It pooled in his stomach and made his fingers tingle, the feeling of being owned and controlled and obedient, and as his lover used his mouth, Hawke whined, closing his eyes, needing to make it _good_ even from his helpless position.

The feel of Hawke writhing underneath him and the irresistible pressure of his mouth soon had Anders panting, thrusting faster as his lover continued his sweet, desperate noises. Anders kept his eyes on Hawke's face, hungrily taking in the slide of his cock between Hawke's lips, the man's needy expression, the sweat beaded across his brow.

"Fuck, you're so good for me," Anders moaned, hips jerking with every flick of Hawke's tongue against his cock, the thought of Hawke left aching and at his mercy finally overwhelming him. He pulled back, relishing Hawke's whine as he released the man's wrists and finished himself off hard and fast, letting out a groan as he spilled across Hawke's face. Sitting back shakily on his lover’s chest, Anders’ breath slowly calmed as he gathered the mess on his fingertips and pressed them between Hawke's lips.

"Good boy," Anders praised as Hawke licked them clean, smoothing the man’s hair back with his other hand.

The taste of his lover had always been one of Hawke's favourite things, and he made pleased, eager noises as he was fed Anders' cum, senses slowly filtering back to him. When the blond's fingers slipped out of his mouth next, dragging across his lower lip, Hawke said breathlessly, "Not fair. You got to come."

Anders grinned, the hand in Hawke's hair tightening. "Since when has this ever been about fairness, pet?" he murmured. "I'll let you come. Eventually." He gave a gentle tug to the black beads around his lover’s neck, patted Hawke's cheek and refastened his trousers, then got up to settle back onto the couch and open his book, as if Hawke weren’t laying on the ground whimpering at his feet.

For a moment, Hawke just lay there, breathing unsteadily, trying to get himself under control. The sight of Anders ignoring him, calm and composed as if nothing had happened, made him shiver in submission, and he pushed himself up, crawling forward to press delicate little pleading kisses to his lover's black boots.

Humming his approval, Anders let Hawke nuzzle against the leather for a few moments, then patted the couch next to him in invitation. Hawke nearly fell over himself to obey, resting his head in Anders' lap with his legs stretched out across the cushions, and Anders smirked when the man melted under the hand lazily petting his dark hair.

After that, Anders let him relax for a while, and though his body was glad for the break, Hawke felt the anticipation twisting through him. They ordered lunch in, and Hawke took the chance to exercise and then shower away the sweat he'd been accumulating. Hawke felt the weight of Anders’ gaze as his lover idly touched him throughout, keeping his nerves on edge, and ensuring that his pet remained obedient.

Another halted orgasm happened over Hawke’s desk, where Anders held his hand steady as Hawke fucked into it; one in the kitchen, where Anders took advantage of the man's sensitivity to pull rhythmically at both nipples until he was crying out and twisting, barely holding himself back. Hawke lost track of the ways Anders made him beg, except for the count and his increasing desperation.

Each time Anders brought the other man to the edge of release, he reveled in the beauty of it, his own arousal returning as Hawke shuddered and begged under his hands, his pet’s voice sinfully wrecked as he obediently kept count of the number of times Anders denied him. The blond waited only a short while after the kitchen before attacking him again; Anders wrapped his arms around Hawke's waist, pinning the man’s hands to his sides and jacking his cock until Hawke convulsed and shook against Anders' grip, begging raggedly to be allowed to come.

Anders simply let go of Hawke's darkened cock again, smirking at the tortured, gorgeous howl that provoked. He waited until Hawke had quieted to gently remind him, "How many, pet?"

"T-twelve - _too many_ ," Hawke protested, twisting in Anders' grasp. His skin was burning, he was going mad. Without thinking, Hawke pulled away and reached down, wrapping a hand around his desperately aching cock.

Before he had the chance to savour the stroke of his own hand over hot skin, Hawke found himself pressed into the nearby wall, wrist grabbed and yanked to the side, a hand twisting in his hair and pulling sharply. "No, please," he sobbed, hips bucking as he tried to get some kind of friction, but Anders held him firm.

"Lost control already?" The familiar voice in his ear wasn't even enough to calm him, too buried in frantic need, and Anders shifted his grip so he could stroke Hawke's dark hair, murmuring adoration until he stopped straining and struggling. "Oh, you've done so well, you broke just the way I wanted you to, love, yes. You'll suffer more for me, won't you?” Hawke’s chest heaved, but he nodded after a brief hesitation, nuzzling into the hand still laced through his hair. “Good boy. Lay on the table, pet, and spread your arms and legs."

Anders lingered just long enough to make sure Hawke obeyed, watching his lover climb shakily on top of the heavy dining table and lay flat, hands clenched against the sides to keep them occupied. The blond gathered the two lengths of black rope from their toy chest and the candle from the dresser, and eyed Hawke predatorily as he stalked back into the room, setting the candle in the kitchen and lighting it for later.

Unwinding the rope as he approached, Anders firmly secured each wrist to opposite legs of the sturdy dining table, not touching Hawke’s skin more than necessary. Hawke moved restlessly on the smooth surface, his cock flushed and twitching eagerly as Anders repeated the process with his ankles; he tugged on the bindings, shaking his head at Anders' ritual question about whether they were too tight. Then the blond took his time circling the table slowly, looking Hawke’s handsome body over as if he were a sacrifice, ready to be devoured.

Hawke’s head followed his movements, until he couldn’t stand the silence and asked, "Are you going to touch me?"

"Eventually," Anders answered simply, letting his hand trail idly across the wood, drawing out Hawke’s anticipation.

The first time Anders reached for him, it was to lift the rosary from his neck, turning the beads between his fingers, and Hawke arched up encouragingly, trying to entice those hands to his skin. Instead, Anders wound the strand carefully around his fist until his lover was gasping, nearly pulled up by the delicate string, eyes glazed by the pressure on his throat. Hawke fell back to the table with a thump when Anders released him suddenly, and the blond smirked down at him as he tried to catch his breath.

The first real touch of Anders’ hand to his skin was a relief, and though the contact was gentle, almost reverent, the soft strokes of his fingers across Hawke's shoulder had the man moaning, oversensitized skin responding as if nails had been dragged over it. Anders hummed approval, and Hawke nearly choked when he said, "That will make the wax especially fun, I think. Now, let's see how close I can get you for thirteen."

"Father," Hawke whispered, closing his eyes as his lover's nails scraped lightly across his neck. They continued down his chest while Anders made an inquiring noise, but Hawke only added deliriously, "I love you."

Pride and adoration swelled in Anders' chest, and he bent to kiss Hawke's forehead. "I love you, so much," he murmured. "My beautiful boy." Fingers teased around Hawke's nipple rings as Anders pet his chest, then brushed lower across his stomach, muscles jumping at the touch. Hawke writhed at the sharp sting of nails down the trail of hair under his navel, arching up to try and direct Anders' hand to his cock, but the blond moved away, walking around the table again as he stroked Hawke's thighs.

His lover's desperate cry made Anders smirk, hand finally wrapping gently around Hawke's twitching cock. "Is this what you want?" he asked coyly.

" _Yes_ , let me, please let me," Hawke babbled, hips arching off the table. His cock slid deliciously through Anders' fingers, slicked by the copious precum he kept leaking, and he thrust again and again, despite how loosely the blond was holding him, hungrily chasing any sensation he could get. Then even that bit of pressure left him, and he howled a protest, pulling at the ropes, pleading incoherently.

Chuckling, Anders caressed Hawke’s sensitized skin as he waited to speak until the man calmed, though the brunet continued to make tiny whimpering noises. "Look at how desperate your lovely cock is, it's so flushed it's nearly purple. So hard and wet for me, pet, you’re dripping." He delicately wrapped his fingers around the base, ignoring the way Hawke bucked up, and laved his tongue over the head, letting his lips caress the searing flesh while his lover cried out. The eager jerk of it against his tongue just a second later had Anders tightening his grip, cutting off the impending orgasm, and Hawke twisted in denial against the table.

Anders pulled away again, relishing the wanton, dazed expression on his lover's face. "You owe me a number, pet," he prodded, hands tracing the taut muscles of Hawke's thighs.

"Please," Hawke whined instead, and Anders flicked his thigh in admonishment. "Thirteen," he corrected himself, panting, not even trying to control the way he writhed on the wood, hardly noticing the little sounds that escaped. "Maker, so many times, why do you keep doing this to me?"

"Because I want to, and you love it, and you suffer it _beautifully_." The gentle fingers turned into nails, digging into Hawke's flesh. Anders smirked when Hawke's back arched sharply with a ragged cry.

Another turn around the table, with Hawke's wet, dark eyes following Anders’ movements, tugging at the ropes when he was nearly close enough for Hawke to touch. "Ah, none of that," Anders scolded, "You're doing so well for me. Just a bit longer, love. You can take it."

"Please," Hawke begged again, "I need... I need you, please. Touch me, kiss me, anything, Father."

"Since you asked so nicely," Anders purred. He made room for himself on the table next to Hawke, pressing up against his side and sliding an arm under his neck to prop up his head. The wood creaked as Hawke arched up to meet his mouth, lips parted eagerly for Anders' tongue, and the hard kiss had Hawke moaning deliciously. Anders left his eyes half-open, savouring the gasp against his mouth when the blond's hand wrapped around Hawke's cock again, stroking him slowly, feeling Hawke tremble against him.

Cloth scraped against Hawke's burning skin as he twisted uncontrollably, hips twitching upward, mindless with it even as he tried desperately to distract himself with his lover's mouth. Whines and moans slipped out, little needy sounds that Hawke hardly noticed making. Then even the slow stroking stopped, and Anders' hand just rested on his painfully sensitive flesh, not giving him any friction no matter how Hawke strained for it.

The man begged in whispers, barely breaking their lips apart long enough to say, "please," one breath at a time before pressing back into the kiss with unthinking need. A single stroke had him keening, and he swore he was finally going to come when Anders squeezed the head gently, but though his body convulsed and only the tight embrace saved his head from hitting the table, he hadn’t been given permission yet, and Hawke sobbed out the impossibility of it.

"So good for me," Anders whispered, looking down Hawke's body fondly as his lover twitched and slammed his hips against the table. Anders' hand rested between his legs, carefully not touching his cock. He kissed Hawke's flushed cheek, stained with tears, and encouraged him, "Give me the number, pet."

"F-Fuck, fourteen?" Hawke tossed his head, voice loud and ragged. "I can't take it, please, Father, please!"

"I know, you’re so beautiful, so obedient, my sweet boy. Just a bit more patience," Anders said soothingly, trailing his hand up Hawke's chest.

Hawke sobbed wordlessly, and Anders paused as he looked down at his lover, cradled in his arms. "Fifteen is a nice round number, don't you think?" The pleading hitch in Hawke's noises, the way he pressed his face against Anders' damp shirt, told him all he needed to know, and he decided to leave the candle for another time. He pet Hawke's shoulder, slid his hand back down the man's body, skin twitching under his calloused fingertips, and rubbed a slow circle into his naked hip.

Leaning down, Anders pressed another kiss to Hawke's cheek, then whispered, "But perhaps I'll have mercy." Lips against his lover's ear, breath scalding, he murmured, "I free you from your penance. Come for me," and wrapped his hand firmly around that gorgeous, solid cock, flushed impossibly dark with restrained desire, one last time.

The brunet jerked in Anders' arms, ropes sliding against the table's edge, and he hadn't yet processed the terrible hope of being given permission when the steady, hard strokes drew him screaming over the edge, fire flowing freely through his body while he howled, trembled, and fought for breath around his broken shouts of ecstasy.

The tortured screams were a beautiful symphony, and Anders smiled smugly as he watched Hawke's hips jerk up helplessly to meet his fist, spilling thick seed across his sweat-soaked and feverish skin. The blond wrung every pent-up drop of cum from Hawke's cock while his lover shuddered and rocked against the bindings. Finally, Hawke sagged against the table, moaning in exhaustion, thighs shaking from being held tense for so long, and Anders released his sensitive cock, pressing a kiss to Hawke's damp forehead before he licked the wetness from his fingers. Anders’ cock still throbbed in his trousers, and he was hungry to take his pleasure from his lover in this sated, dazed state.

Hawke made a heartbreaking noise of protest when Anders slid off the table, but the blond petted him soothingly, murmuring comfort as he untied the ropes around his wrists and ankles. Hands groped for him immediately, but Anders ignored them, pulling Hawke up so his head hung off the edge of the table and stroking his darkened cheeks. "Not done with you yet, pet," he murmured darkly. "You drive me crazy when you’re desperate, I want to fuck your mouth again. You came so gorgeously, and I love the way you break for me."

With a moan, Hawke parted his lips as he reached out to pull weakly at the fabric over Anders' waist. He was boneless, used up, fucked out, and quite willing to be his lover's perfect little toy, with not even the strength to lick his lips when Anders freed his own stiff cock; he only compliantly opened his mouth wider.

Anders pressed forward, cock sliding between Hawke's lips, barely giving him time to get used to his throat being filled before starting to thrust quick and deep, relishing each of the soft noises Hawke made when Anders withdrew to let him breathe. The man’s hands pressed eagerly against Anders' body, sliding under his shirt to touch skin and urge him on. Hawke was spread out before him, such a lovely, wrecked mess, mouth searing pleasure through him, and Anders gently stroked his lover's jaw and chest as he used him, praise falling unrestrained from his lips.

"You're always so _good_ for me, Hawke,” Anders panted, close now, tangling his fingers in Hawke’s short hair. “Oh, the things you let me do to you, the way you take my cock and beg for more, oh fuck, you're all mine and you're _perfect_." He let out a cry as he came hard down Hawke's throat, bracing himself against the table to keep upright as his cock throbbed and his ass flexed.

Petting Hawke's cheek, he finally withdrew, watching as his lover gasped in air, trying in vain to pull him closer, and Anders chuckled. "I think we need a more comfortable piece of furniture."

“You can’t possibly expect me to move,” Hawke groaned, wiping sweat and tears from his face. 

“Just to the couch, come on.” Anders gently took Hawke’s arm, helping him off the table as his lover winced, and led him to the sofa, where the brunet collapsed face-first with a grunt. Chuckling, Anders sat on the edge and began rubbing his shoulders, smiling at Hawke’s relieved sigh.

“Maker, that was almost _too_ much,” Hawke said eventually, once Anders had worked the tension out of his back and moved down to his legs. “You’re brilliantly evil.”

“Well, I still owed you for disobeying me.” Anders pinched Hawke’s thigh. 

“Even if you loved it?” Hawke glanced over his shoulder with a grin. 

“Of course,” the blond replied, smirking. “I can’t have you thinking you can get away with being a brat.”

“You know this isn’t a deterrent, especially if you’re going to give me penance for it.” Hawke shuffled onto his side, and pulled Anders down to lay on the couch with him, wrapping his arms securely around the man’s waist. “Does this mean I’ll get to call you Father again?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, but couldn’t help the undercurrent of eagerness.

Anders let his fingers run across the rosary that still lay around Hawke’s neck. “I know how much you enjoy it, and I believe I’m comfortable with it again. To be honest, I’ve always enjoyed it too,” he admitted.

Hawke grinned and kissed him. “As long as you’re okay with it. You know I love everything you do to me. And everything about you, really.”

“You keep reminding me, love, I don’t think I could ever forget. But feel free to keep saying it, just in case,” Anders replied, smiling fondly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to everyone who read, commented, kudos'd, flailed, sent messages, gifted lovely art, screamed at us, and otherwise interacted with this story and us while we wrote it. Mevi and I have had a lovely time writing it, and we're so thrilled that other people have enjoyed this sinful journey. We're planning on doing a series of one-offs after this, tentatively titled "TotW - Parables," and they'll be mostly smutty and take place before and after the main series. So stay tuned for that.
> 
> The amazing [epilogue art](http://un-shit-yourself.tumblr.com/post/149655434283/in-celebration-of-temptations-of-the-wicked) was commissioned by USY from [Danpee](http://danpee.tumblr.com) and it's absolutely perfect, thank you <3
> 
> Also if you want to see what else we scream about, visit [Mevi](http://mevima.tumblr.com) and [USY](http://un-shit-yourself.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. <3


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